


Heroes and Villains:  Of Trips, Crypts, and Catacombs

by irishlullaby13



Series: Heroes and Villains [6]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe: Heroes and Villains, And Bad Decisions, Copious amounts of alcohol - Freeform, F/M, The Captain and the Siren, and that's just in part one, here come the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-11-03
Packaged: 2018-07-24 07:07:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 36,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7498818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishlullaby13/pseuds/irishlullaby13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which our heroine schemes to keep an eye on our villain whilst he sets out to discover the world that has replaced the one once knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Trips...

_1781—_

Abbie pulled book after book from the shelves in Lachlan Fredericks' study. She had to find something to occupy her time while her ancestor, Grace Dixon, went into the town to fetch some supplies needed to reverse what Katrina had done. Abbie had been more than thrilled to meet her namesake and the woman who had penned the journal she often used for reference. Of course she had to sort of curb her excitement, _just in case_ her partner in crime, Captain Ichabod Crane remembered anything from this whole fiasco.

Supposedly he wasn't. But, she had just found out the little shit had an eidetic memory. She wasn't completely sure how that would work in this case. What if everything that happened became some kind of weird dream for him or one of those things that sat at the back of ones mind and just randomly leapt forward in vague flashes? Of course, he wouldn't be able to confirm they were anything else unless she _told_ him. But she still didn't want to risk it.

“I take it you are able to read?” the man in question asked, removing a book from a shelf she couldn't quite reach. He handed it over to her.

“Yep,” Abbie snipped. “I can read, write, do algebra, and I even know things about science that would blow Benny's brain.” They both cringed. Abbie's was more of an internal cringe whilst the Captain's was more outward. “Sorry...” she said quietly. “I know you didn't really care to much for the guy but... _I will fix this_. This will be put right. He'll be back to his pudgy, ladies man self in no time.”

The Captain nodded lightly. “Good. On _all_ accounts. I may not have preferred Master Franklin's company, but did consider him an... extremely casual acquaintance.” He sucked in a breath and his hands fidgeted—something she hadn't seen since she arrived but was very familiar with from the man she knew in her own time period. “It will be good that he is able to... live his life as was intended...”

Abbie looked up from the book she was currently leafing through. “You can say it, you know.” He looked at her and swallowed hard. “You're glad he gets to live even if it means you have to die.” She closed the book and went around the desk to take his hands in hers. “It's going to be okay.”

“Can you be certain?” the Captain asked.

“Where I come from, a wise man once said, 'You have no control who lives, who dies, who tells your story'...” Abbie said gently. “The best you can do is to know that it serves a purpose... And that when you wake up... okay bad example. The point is... in your case, death isn't permanent.”

“A very wise man indeed.” His gaze dropped to their hands and a small smile appeared. “I only wish that I had not been betrayed by nearly everyone I know and love prior to all of this.” He brought her hands to his lips and kissed the back of both of them. “At least I have the prospect of making _your_ acquaintances once I awaken.”

He smiled gently, a warm affection glowing in his eyes.

Abbie tried to return the smile as authentically as possible. Mostly because if she did other wise she was afraid he might realize almost every thing she had been telling him was not 100% accurate. “Yep,” she said, nodding. “Me and you... bff's for life...”

Then again, she had also told him that she had sought him out by direct orders from Washington himself—a mission so secret that Good Ol' George would deny it if anyone asked about it—to find Captain Ichabod Crane. Although it was a bit weird at first, it was kinda fun name dropping folks like George Washington, Benjamin Franklin, and some others. Hell, she had even thrown in Thomas Jefferson for good measure because she was pretty sure he was in France and it wasn't like they could just text him and ask him if she really was a French spy. And hell, once she mentioned Jefferson, she was pretty sure the good Captain would have licked her boots clean if she had asked.

He even knew about the whole time travel thing. And he thought they were close friends where she came from. And she may have hinted that they were more than just “Apocalypse Battle Buddies”—something he seemed quite intrigued by when she made the hints. And he had been trying to get her to say it outright ever since. But, Abbie wasn't about to admit to anything.

“I have _no idea_ what that means.”

She looked at their hands and felt her face flush. “You will.” It was weird how damn easy it had been to get him on board to helping her. She hadn't had to try very hard to get him to see things her way. She looked up at him. “Why did you help me? You don't know me from anybody... everything I said was completely off the wall... but, right away you... did.”

“Before I left, you asked me I wanted to just blindly follow orders or do what was right,” he said quietly. “By time I returned to my carriage... I had discerned following orders was _not_ the right thing to do. And I was further convinced when I took you to my home and my wife proceeded to attack us. That was a... what did you call it? A Texas-size red flag edged with... glitter?” Abbie snickered lightly. “I have no idea what _any of that_ meant either but... your message was loud and clear. Resigning to simply following orders was just as bad as pledging alliance to evil.”

Abbie pulled her hands away from his and rubbed her palms against the material stretched over her hips. _Damn_ , she thought. _Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn_... This was not a good thing. Well, it was but at the same time it wasn't. It was great he was helping her. It wasn't great that he was kissing hands and giving her those damn Disney princess eyes... He wasn't supposed to be all confident and sexy and... _doable_. He was supposed to be meek and twitchy, like she remembered him being.

She preferred their being enemies. Although, he _was_ still pretty touchy, feely, he had so far kept things “proper.” He had even been properly admonished when they had been at Franklin's house and Benny had scolded him for staring at her ass.

“You need to stop,” Abbie said with a light warning tone, poking him in the chest. “Before I sit on your damn face.” She had tried her best to make it sound like a legit threat, like it was a bad thing. But she knew the moment his eyes widened, that he knew _exactly_ what she had meant. She really needed to stop underestimating the sex lives of folks in the Colonial era. “And... where I'm from... that is _not_ a good thing,” she added with an indignant huff. “Where I'm from it's a threat and... very... threatening.”

She stomped back around the desk and plopped down in the seat to continue her reading. Or she would have if the Captain hadn't set his big ass paw down right in the middle of her book and pulled it his way. “You know what I think,” the Captain asked. 

When she looked up at him, there was a wicked glimmer in his eyes that made her feel all kinds of things she didn't need to be feeling at that moment. That look had made a many appearance in the masonic cell. She inhaled deeply then sighed heavily before responding. “What?”

“I think it means exactly the same thing in your era as it does in _mine_ , Miss Siren,” he said, his voice thick and heavy as he leaned over the desk to look her directly in the eyes.

“I've told you six times, there's no 'Miss' to it. It's a code name,” Abbie said sternly. He smirked and arched his brow. She shifted in her seat uncomfortably. “ _Stop it_.”

“Denial by refusing to address the matter does nothing to correct my theory.”

“And I bet you think you got me right where you want me, don't you _Captain_ ,” she huffed. She'd show him... She had full, unadulterated control of this situation. Of herself, even. He was not getting under her skin. He was _not_ turning her on. Not in the least.

Abbie pressed her lips into a thin, hard line. She reached underneath his towering form for the book, curling her fingers around the far edges so not to damage the pages. The action turned out to be a big, capital mistake because it brought her closer to him. And the moment she came close enough, his mouth was on hers.

It was in that moment she forgot why she had been reaching under him in the first place and opted to go with the more desirable route of running her palm up his chest then around his neck. Then her mouth betrayed her by becoming malleable and opening to his. Next she knew she was on her knees, atop the desk, being hoisted up against the Captain's lanky frame. She wasn't entirely sure if he had dragged her across it or she had crawled across it so she could try and climb him like a tree.

They pulled apart just enough to suck in a deep breath a piece.

Abbie searched his face. “ _Damn_ ,” was all she could say. It was all she could think.

“My sentiments exactly,” he said, panting for breath. He took her face in his hands, his thumbs stroking her cheeks. She half expected playful kisses and nips to start. There was absolutely nothing playful about what came next. Abbie yanked his mouth back to hers. She pulled hard on his hair because she knew it would make him groan and when he did she took full possession of his mouth.

When he lifted her away from the desk, she wrapped her legs around his waist. He eased her down atop the desk again, tearing his mouth away from hers. His eyes were dark. So little blue that Abbie wondered if she had been mistaken about what colour his eyes were. He searched her face, asking her so many questions. She just nodded lightly and pushed his coat off of his shoulders. 

He shook his arms from the sleeves and it fell to the floor with a heavy _fwump_. Abbie was working on the buttons of his waistcoat. She didn't even wait, once it was unbuttoned to start tugging at his shirt to pull it from his breeches. Her hands had _just_ touched heated skin when the door to the study pushed open and Grace walked in, basket hanging on her arm.

The three of them froze. After a moment, Grace's expression turned into disapproval as she looked between them. The Captain looked like he was debating whether jumping out a window or staying put would have him least likely to be scolded by the house matron. And Abbie... Abbie just tried to play it cool like nothing had been going on. Like it should be perfectly normal to walk into a room and see two people making out and trying to get naked.

“You made it back quick,” Abbie said, her voice unintentionally pitching and then cracking.

“I was lucky... a neighbour down the way had everything I needed,” Grace said lightly. She looked the Captain over speculatively. She pursed her lips and arched an eyebrow. Abbie's ancestor looked every bit like every mother or grandmother she had seen come in at the sheriffs department to pick up their delinquent child and had every intention of _waiting_ for the moment said child confessed to their crimes, just so they could smack them for it. “Captain Crane, do you need to _excuse_ yourself for a moment?”

He muttered a quick apology and was out of the room in the blink of an eye. Abbie's gaze fell to his coat, still on the floor. She slid off of the desk to retrieve it and wrapped it around her shoulders. Grace nodded with approval.

“Perhaps that would be best, for the time being,” she said. “We need to make sure _everyone_ can concentrate on the task at hand. Yourself included.”

Now that the Captain was out of the room, Abbie felt it was time to share some information with her ancestor...

  
#  


_Present—_

It was 1781 that came to mind as Abbie crossed the threshold, stepping onto the plane. To be quite honest, she had been thinking about it _a lot_ , more than she wanted to admit to herself. Jenny, of course, had assumed the worst because she hadn't wanted to talk about it... at least until Abbie gave her a very, appropriate for all ages, extremely abridged version of things. There was no way in hell she was going to admit to being _that close_ to having sex with the Captain.

Mostly because Jenny would tell Joe and Joe would never shut up about it. Abbie was pretty sure Joe was trying to set them up. So far all she had was a theory, but no proof so she wasn't going to say anything just yet.

Her eyes fell to an empty aisle seat at the back of first class. Her seat, in fact. The window seat was currently occupied by a very nervous looking man. It was fine and well because she hated having the window seat. Her row buddy eyes were wide as he stared out of the window and bit his knuckles. He was gently rocking himself back and forth, as though trying to sooth himself.

Abbie straightened her glasses—she had gotten them specially for this trip—cute 50's inspired frames with little gems set into the pointed top edge of the frames. She smoothed down her blouse and pencil skirt and put on the airs of a successful, scholarly woman and slipped into the empty seat.

Her seat buddy stilled as soon as she took the seat. She grinned cutely when he looked toward her. “Hi,” she greeted cheerily, making sure to keep her voice soft and sweet. “You must be Captain Crane... Joe's told me _all_ about you.” She held her hand out in greeting.

“You are... _Doctor_ Adams, I presume?” he asked slowly. He gently took her hand and inclined his head with the best bow he could achieve in such close quarters. “I had assumed... you would be... _older_.” He looked dazed. “Or perhaps... not nearly as... beautiful.”

“Well, it's me... Doctor... Abigail... Adams.” God dammit, she was going to smother Joe with saran wrap when she got back home. She had left him in charge of coming up with a surname for her 'cover' after she had insisted on going by her full middle name. She felt like Joe had done this on purpose, as part of their game of 'lets see how obvious we can be'. She sighed lightly. “My parents were big history nerds.”

Her eyes flittered to their hands. He was still holding hers. She cleared her throat and lightly pulled her hand away from his. “Feel free to call me Abigail, _Gail_ , or Doctor Adams. Whichever your classic principles mandates.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and fluttered her lashes. “It's just... such a big honour to... meet an _actual_ founding father...”

His face flushed and he smiled shyly. Abbie had heard rumours such an expression on his face. According to Jenny his nurse friend and her wife were often the ones to bring it out. She _may have_ seen it once while in 1781, but it had been so fleeting she couldn't be sure. It made him look like bashful chipmunk and was absolutely adorable and endearing.

You know... if she didn't absolutely hate him that is. If she didn't hate him it would totally make her want to pounce him.

“It is certainly a pleasure to have your company on this endeavour Doctor Adams.” the Captain said softly. “Although I do have concerns about whether your reputation will be called into question for travelling such a great distance with someone such as myself. _Alone_.”

Abbie grinned. She had to admit. That was adorable. “Things have changed since your day, Captain Crane,” she said. “It is perfectly fine for two unmarried people of opposite sex to travel together. My reputation will remain sparkly clean. I promise.” She leaned closer toward him and trailed her fingers down the sleeve of his coat and across the back of his hand. Almost instantly his hand turned and captured hers, entwining their fingers. “Can't make any promises about yours though.”

The Captain sputtered slightly and stammered for a moment before managing a quiet _eh-heh_. He cleared his throat. “Master Corbin did warn me that you could be... _flirtatious_. But, feel free, Doctor Adams, to call me whatever makes you feel comfortable. Although I _am_ quite fond of being called _Captain_.” His eyes fell to her mouth and he lightly moistened his lips before meeting her eyes. 

Abbie felt her heart skip a beat. She wasn't sure if it was because she suspected he somehow knew who she really was or because everything he was doing was reminding her of 1781. Either way, if she didn't stay on her A-game, things could and probably would go south at a moments notice. So she had to keep her guard up.

  
#  


_Two weeks earlier_...

It was something the history lover in him had never been able to fight. It had long been his weakness—or, to borrow a modern phrase—his _kryptonite_. 

He would read of foreign lands full of a rich history and he would dream of visiting the place. It had guided a many of his travels in his youth. But now it was not something in his _personal_ history which called to him. It was the history of the world since he had “died” in 1781.

Eras which had passed him by in which the nations had blossomed and bloomed, _two_ world wars, revolutions and riots, the rise and fall of empires and movements both good and bad. _History_.

He wasn't certain how long it had been after the Siren had saved the world from the apocalypse, he just knew that suddenly, reading about all the things and places since his demise were no longer enough. He wanted to see how London sprawled out as far as the eye could see for himself. He wanted to walk the halls of Oxford and marvel at how it had changed since his days there. He wanted to visit the ancestral summer home of his family in Scotland, to see how it had faired through two centuries. He wanted to visit Berlin, Amsterdam, Paris, Barcelona, Morocco, Egypt, Poland, Argentina, Honduras, _Hawaii_.

He really wanted to visit Hawaii.

He wanted to lose himself in this new and exciting world... to see what great and beautiful things had taken over during his rest. It also didn't hurt that there was the prospect of the Horseman returning to take his head so he rather liked the idea of putting as much distance as possible between him and Sleepy Hollow for the time being.

Naturally, he went to Master Corbin with his request. The younger man had blinked at him. “Are you sure that's a good idea?” he had asked. “I mean, _alone_. You're right about it being dangerous out there, you know. And you're not acclimated to how people are yet... and you're terrified of walking down the street.”

Ichabod had planned the perfect response, as he had been fairly certain Joseph would bring up his fear of leaving the manor. He handed Joe a list and then clasped his hands behind his back. “I had hoped, perhaps, I could convince you to join me upon this endeavour. I have considered the various options for travel which are available in this modern era. If we utilize travel by one of these _air buses_ we should be able to visit all of these locales in less than a year's time.”

Joe looked over the list. “Wow... I mean... wow. That's a lot of places. To be honest, it's not that I don't think you're ready for... Tokyo... It's that I don't think Tokyo is quite ready for _you_. Australia?”

“In my day it was barely making it's beginnings as a penal colony. I hear it is now a very popular vacation destination. And, if you note, I scheduled two weeks there in the event we come across anything which may cause us to seek shelter for an extended period such as the rain of spiders, swooping birds, or... being chased into the deserts by a kangaroo...”

Joe made a face and Ichabod felt his heart sink. “I would _love_ to go, seriously,” Joe said hesitantly. “But I can't... I can't take that much time off work. What about Latisha and Carol? I'm sure they would _love_ an excuse to take Melody to Disney World.”

“Financial obligations and lack of holiday leave,” Ichabod said quietly, feeling himself deflate as each moment passed. “And they would not permit me to pay their mortgage and car payments whilst abroad.”

“Hang on a second...” Joe said, pulling his phone from his pocket. Judging by his actions, the young man was sending a text missive. After a moment the phone rang and he answered the call. “ _Hey_... ma'am... Yeah well, you know that guy Jen and me were telling you about? The guy that woke up from a 200-something year nap?” A pause in which Joe looked up at him. “He needs a companion that is familiar with the modern era to accompany him on a trip around the world... Yes I'm serious... Yes I know I said he doesn't like leaving the manor. But he's ready to give it a try and wants to jump in feet first... I can't do it because of work but... I thought you would love the chance to take this on. All expenses paid.” Joe grinned widely. “I'll put together the details and send them over to see what you think.”

Joe hung up and grinned up at Ichabod. “I think I found someone who might want to accompany you. Actually I know she would love to do it. She's been pestering me and Jenny to introduce her to you since we told her about your... predicament.”

Ichabod eased himself into a seat and rested his hands on his knees. “Oh?”

Joe nodded. “Yeah, she's a friend that helps out with the whole artefacts thing. She's a... history professor that teaches American History at the college of William and Mary in Williamsburg. Although I have to warn you, she can be a bit of flirt and she has been _very eager_ to meet you since finding out you're a founding father and—and I quote—not hard to look at.”

“I am certain there is absolutely nothing to cause concern,” Ichabod replied. 

Of course he had agreed to the arrangement, once finding out she was willing to accompany him, with the idea that she would be a flirty, older matron type woman... Which was precisely what she had _not_ been.

  
#  


She must surely think him a fool to not see through the, quite frankly, very weak cover story. He had known from the very moment she sat next to him who she was. There was no mistaking the intoxicating scent that clung to her skin and set his blood racing. Ichabod wondered if Master Corbin knew this... _Doctor Adams_ was in fact the Siren.

He doubted Abigail Adams was even her real name—actually, he was certain it wasn't her real name. He also doubted she was a history professor. That much was glaringly obvious. Although he had to commend her efforts, he wondered what precisely, she was looking for by accompanying him on this trip.

He had seen nor heard nary a thing of her since the Sunday dinner with his friends. He wasn't even sure what she had been looking for in his cellar or if she had found it. But, if she was committed to playing the part of a flirtatious history professor... he was certainly going to commit to being oblivious to her true identity.

It would be fun to find out which of them surrendered first.

  
#  


There were three types of staring. One, was the kind of staring that made the one being observed uncomfortable. The Second was the kind of staring that made the one getting observed start feeling things in certain regions of their body. The third was the kind of staring where the one _doing_ the staring had a moment of familiarity and was trying to determine if they had seen a certain face before and were trying to place _where_ they had seen them.

Somehow the Captain was able to do all three at once. Therefore, Abbie was uncomfortable, horny, and paranoid that he had some how figured out who she was all at the same time. She needed another drink.

So far they had gone to Disney World, New Orleans, and were currently in Chicago, at the Poag Mahone's, with a flight to take them to Los Angeles in the morning and then it was Hawaii. She lowered her drink and folded her arms on the little table between her and the Captain. “You know what I think? I think you need to stop staring, 'cause it's _rude_.”

The Captain lowered his gaze to his own drink. “If you're frightened, you need only say so and I shall not mention it again, Doctor.” His mouth pulled into a wicked half smirk as he resumed gazing at her. “And I stare because... men such as myself tend to become fixated when confronted with beauty such as yours.”

“You're _still_ not going to get me on a see-through platform on a sky scraper.” She pointed at him, drink glass in hand. “No matter how much you try to sweet talk me and call me pretty...”

Nonetheless, an hour later, she was clinging to his arm standing on the SkyDeck of Willis Tower. She was too busy hiding her face in his coat sleeve to know what kind of reaction he was having. “It is not too different from looking out of the window of the plane,” the Captain said.

“Yeah well, I don't do that either,” Abbie grumbled. “Can we go back inside now?”

“As I said, you need only admit you are afraid and we shall retreat inside. Otherwise we are staying put until you take a look.”

There was no way in hell she was going to admit to being afraid of heights—he might get it in his head to build a huge tower right in the middle of Sleepy Hollow and make it his evil lair. Abbie Mills might be scared of heights but Doctor Abigail Adams wasn't... they might make her hesitant but she was not afraid of them. And dammit, she still wanted to murder Joe for the name.

Abbie squeeze her eyes shut and took a deep breath. She schooled her expression into the epitome of calm before lifting her face away from the Captain's coat sleeve. Her chin jutted into the air as she stepped forward and slowly opened her eyes. Almost immediately she had her breath taken away. Her heart was beating a million miles an hour but she found herself transfixed by the mix of the glowing city lights and the rapidly retreating sunset.

She couldn't believe she had almost let fear keep her from witnessing how beautiful it was. After a moment, she felt a hand settle into the curve of her waist and another hand take hers. She leaned back against the Captain's solid frame and felt a strange sense of security. “Beautiful,” he murmured.

He released her hand and she felt his knuckles lightly stroke her jaw then down her neck. Abbie shivered and looked up at him. “Okay, you got me, the view is beautiful,” she admitted as he gently grasped her chin.

“I was not referring to the outside scenery,” he replied.

There were very few things that could set Abbie's heart aflutter. Kittens playing, a happy ending to a book or movie, a surprise that set off a wave of emotions... and apparently the Captain's lips on hers. Even before their lips had met, when she saw him leaning in, her heart had taken off like a jumbo jet, soaring into the clouds with no intention of returning to the ground any time soon.

This kiss was almost the complete opposite of what had happened in 1781. _That_ had been all adrenaline and an aching need to feel alive. _This_ was tentative and seeking a connection they knew was there and wanting to find out what it meant. When she turned into his embrace, Abbie couldn't stop herself from sliding her hands into his coat and around his waist.

She clutched the material of his shirt in her fists as he cradled her face in his hands and gently explored her mouth. The moments that followed happened in a blur. Abbie wouldn't be able to ever recall the details but she was positive they left the building, she was pretty sure a cab was involved, and next she knew she was being pressed against the door of their shared suite while she dug in the Captain's pocket for the card to open the door.

Her alcohol buzz was long gone and the Captain had only lightly sipped at a brandy after dinner at a little pub near Willis Tower and she was pretty sure her conscience was properly bound and gagged somewhere in the back of her mind. It _had_ to be. Otherwise it would be reminding her that the Captain had no idea who she really was at that moment. He thought he was about to bed a cute history professor named Abigail.

Oh, wait, there went her conscience. It had finally arrived. Although, to be technical... her name was Abigail so in a way...

_No_ , her conscience piped in. _It's not the same_.

But then her feet were back on the floor, he was nibbling down her neck, and she was yanking his coat down his arms and kicking her shoes off. He grasped her hips and nuzzled just below her ear before finding a surprisingly sensitive spot to tease with his lips and tongue. He pulled her against him and she could feel the hard imprint of his arousal against her stomach.

Abbie finally pulled herself back a hand on his chest with every intention of sending him to his room and going to her own. However, when she stepped back he stepped forward, following her with a look very similar to a homeless puppy trying to convince her to take him home and love him. He was making it very hard to do the right thing.

“We shouldn't be doing this,” she said quietly. _Score one for the conscience_.

The Captain blinked for a moment, then gathered the hand on his chest into both of his. He brought her hand to his lips and softly kissed the tips of her fingers. “As the lady... wishes,” he said, his voice still heavy with desire. He kissed her fingers again then released her hand and stepped back.

Between his willingness to stop and way his voice had just done things to certain parts of her... Abbie grabbed the v of his waistcoat and practically dragged him into her room. Their mouths met again as she unbuttoned his waist coat. She dragged his waistcoat off then shoved him down on her bed. “We _really_ should stop,” Abbie said, but undermined it by climbing on top of him.

She yanked the bottom of her blouse from the waistline of her skirt and pulled it over her head. The Captain's hands paused mid-air, hovering just a few inches from her skin. “I am afraid I am very confused,” he panted. “Does my lady wish to continue or no?”

“It's complicated,” Abbie replied and leaned down to kiss him. He groaned loudly against her lips, his hands finally coming to a rest on her skin. One hand stayed at her waist, the other slid behind her back. She let herself get caught up in how warm and gentle his hands were.

The Captain broke the kiss and titled his head forward so their foreheads touched. “Perhaps it would be best to share which conflict is causing the complications?” The hand on her back flattened. “Is it that we have only known each other a short amount of time...? Or...” He spread his fingers out, practically spanning the width of her back with his hand. “Perhaps...” he murmured. “You have conflicted feelings because you are the Siren?”

Abbie sucked in a sharp breath as his fingers glided up her back, lightly tracing the path of the scars that ran from her shoulders to the small of her back. _He knew? He knew!_ “How long have you known?” Abbie asked against his lips.

“I knew the moment you sat beside me on the plane,” he replied softly. “One of the advantages of having an eidetic memory. Before I even looked at you, I recognized...” He pressed his lips to hers then kissed along her jaw and down her neck. “...that intoxicating sweetness that clings to your skin and overwhelms my senses anytime you are near... makes me want to lose myself inside of you...”

Abbie shivered when his teeth grazed at the curve of her shoulder. _He knew_. He _had known_ since the beginning. That certainly explained a few things he had said and done over the course of the trip thus far—the way he would gaze at her with that knowing smirk on his lips, the way he was constantly touching her with a sense of familiarity... the cocky bastard.

“So tell me, Captain,” Abbie purred. “Who has whom exactly where they want the other?”

“I do believe it is I who has been brought to their knees,” the Captain murmured. “Although...” His hands ghosted over the curve of her backside and then slid under the edge of her skirt, dragging it upward as he gripped the flesh of her ass. “I fear the advantage could take a turn at a moment's notice.”

“Or will it?” Abbie teased. A small yelp escaped her lips when she suddenly felt her back hit the mattress and the Captain loomed over her, his hips nestled between her thighs. “I stand corrected.” She hummed with interest when he pinned her wrists down on the bed. A small laugh escaped her lips and she sighed dramatically. “Do your worst, Captain...”

“Tell me, my lovely Abigail... although I assume that is _not_ your real name,” the Captain murmured against her jaw. “Do Master Corbin and Miss Jenny know of your secret identity?”

Abbie arched an eyebrow when he pulled back enough to gaze down at her. “If they knew, do you really think Joe would have asked me to come with you on this trip?” She would let him make his own mind up on this one.

“Miss Jenny would have, probably in the hopes that you would push me into a volcano whilst in Hawaii,” the Captain replied. Abbie snorted. “The wild card, as it were, lies in Master Corbin... I have confided to him many times of how you so easily sway my attentions. One could make the assumption that, if he knows of your secret identity, he may have asked you to join me in an attempt to encourage a romantic liaison between the two of us.”

Abbie gave a mock gasp. “ _He knows_. That traitor.” She narrowed her eyes. “ _But_ he doesn't know that _we_ know that he knows my secret identity...”

The Captain shrugged indifferently. “Considering the magnitude of most of the betrayals I have faced since awakening in this era... I can't really be angry at Master Corbin's treachery in this particular instance.”

“Eh, his heart's in the right place.”

“There is but one thing which I do not understand,” the Captain said. “Why would you wish to accompany me on this journey?”

“To see if you were anything like the man I met in 1781,” Abbie replied softly. She trailed her fingers along his jaw then traced the shell of his ear.

“And why would you wish to know _that_?”

“Because if you _are_ still anything like him... there's hope.” 

He put his hand over hers, his eyes searching her face. “What happened in 1781?” He kissed her palm and then rested his cheek in it. 

Abbie smiled enigmatically. “I'm pleading the fifth on that one.”

“Then perhaps you are correct... this is something which we should not do.”

Abbie stroked his cheek as she pulled her hand from under his. Damn his logic. “Only if you're sure.”

The Captain sighed heavily. “I am, most regrettably, absolutely certain.”

  
#  


The sway of her hips were driving him to distraction and—no matter how many of the deliciously fruit flavoured drinks he consumed—he could not draw his attention away. One of the things he had not taken into consideration with a beautiful and exotic location, such as Hawaii, was that his lovely Siren would primarily adorn herself in an article of clothing called a “bikini.” Occasionally she would add a long wrap, neatly tied and riding low on her hips.

Even when she wore the wrap, there was entirely too much skin on display and he had a hard time figuring out where his eyes were permitted to roam. Everywhere he looked, he could imagine pressing his lips to the span of golden skin on display. She was currently at the _bar_ her knees in one of the seats, leaning over the counter-top, her hips swaying in time to the music. It was incredibly... tempting. 

Tempting to kiss the length of each of the scars on her back. Tempting to grasp her hips and bury himself inside of her.

Then again, that could be “the alcohol talking.” Or it might not be, considering he found her tempting when completely sober. Although the alcohol was probably making him entirely more likely to do something he wouldn't under normal circumstances. Such as... act upon the impulses he tried so hard to keep hidden away.

“All right, all right,” the Siren chimed as she returned to the table, several tiny glasses in her hands along with a small saucer filled with salt and limes. Each glass was filled almost to the brim with a different liquor. “Lets see how you handle some big boy drinks...” She set three of the tiny glasses down in front of him and three others down in front of her seat. The saucer was set between them

“And what delight have you brought for our enjoyment?” Ichabod picked up one of the glasses and lightly smelled of it. “Cinnamon?”

“Fireball,” she said, pointing to the one in his hand. She point at one of the others. “Patron Silver. And...” she pointed at the third. “Jagermeister. Which, that one is better cold so we need to drink that one first.”

“I have quite enjoyed tonight's outing,” he commented, setting down the 'fireball' and picking up the tiny glass filled with a dark liquor. It smelled a bit like black licorice mixed with betrayal and regret.

“Well you were getting depressing so I thought getting shit faced in a _beautiful_ setting might cheer you up,” she said.

Ichabod held up the glass in a salute. “With a beautiful companion, might I add...” That elicited a smile from his Siren. 

She counted to three and they both swallowed down the drink in one gulp. Ichabod was both disgusted and delighted by the fact the 'jagermeister' tasted exactly like it smelled.

“Good God, that was wretched,” he coughed. “I imagine Benjamin Franklin would have enjoyed serving that at parties just to gauge reactions for a laugh!”

The Siren's face turned sombre, with a hint of trying to hide a smile. “Having met Monsieur Franklin, myself,” she said primly. “I am inclined to agree.” She then went into a fit of giggles. She waved her hand dismissively. “Sorry... I was just... thinking about...” She started giggling again.

“ _What_ were you thinking about, pray tell?”

Her eyes danced mischievously as she leaned over the table and beckoned him to lean in as well. “Okay,” she whispered. “I'll tell you... but you can't tell Joe... or Jenny...”

Ichabod leaned in as well, eyes wide. “I am all ears, Siren...”

She slid a hand behind his neck and put her lips close to his ear. Ichabod had to close his eyes as her fragrance filled his senses. “Benny got onto you for staring at my ass.” She caught his earlobe between her teeth playfully then dropped back into her seat giggling. “All right... what's next? Fireball or Silver?”

“Ladies choice,” Ichabod replied.

When he looked back upon that night, he would never be able to remember, which one came next or what exactly followed after. He would only ever remember waking up to a bad headache and panicked “oh my god”s from the Siren as she struggled to pull on his shirt to cover her nakedness.


	2. ...Of Crypts, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to run away from discussions you don't want to have when at cruising altitudes. Also, sometimes it's hard to make someone believe something even when it's the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got to be so long I decided to cut it in half so you guys could have an update...

_Hawaii—_

_“I only built them because I was trapped in a room for three days,” the Captain yelped. Abbie laughed as his hand waved around wildly as if to emphasize his point. “I wasn't_ trying _to use them to do anything nefarious!”_

_“Suuuure you wasn't,” Abbie drawled out, laughter still in her voice._

_“I have found, when I am frustrated, it is best to find a task which to focus upon. In that case the task was to follow the instructions in a manual on how to build a robot,” he said. He swallowed hard and blinked at her as he weaved._

_“You built twelve of them!” Abbie barked with amusement._

_“Well, I was incredibly frustrated,” he said with a tiny huff. “I had recently awakened from a very long hibernation, spent several weeks or months in solitary at an insane asylum, and then I was locked in a room slash cellar. It was often days before I so much as had any sort of human contact...”_

_Abbie picked up her beer and took a long sip. “Oh just be honest, you were trying not to masturbate.”_

_The Captain, who had been in the middle of taking a drink from his own beer, sputtered and his drink dribbled down the front of his shirt. “_ I beg your pardon _?” Abbie threw her head back and laughed until her stomach hurt. “That, Siren, was incredibly rude.” He swallowed hard and brought his bottle back to his lips. “Perhaps it may be moderately true... however it is still true... I mean rude.” He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head before taking a drink of his beer. “_ Incredibly rude _.”_

_Abbie eyed him for a long moment. “Okay... so that huge wall of firewood in the barn?” He grinned wickedly around the mouth of his bottle. “Seriously? There is enough wood out there I literally built a small fort to chill in while you search the property for me. With three rooms. I even built a small sofa.”_

_“I was wondering where that came from... And, if you cared to notice, the wood stack only started growing once you started breaking into my home.”_

_A small smirk pulled at Abbie's lips. Oh she had noticed. On her days off she would go lounge in the loft of the barn and watch him chopping away with all his might, ruffle his hair in frustration, and listen to him grumbling under his breath. She had watched as piece by piece of his usual uniform was stripped off and set to the side until he was sweaty, shirtless, and barefoot._

_Abbie slid her chair closer to his then reached over and played with one of the buttons on his coat. He sat up a little straighter in his seat and slowly set down his drink. “I'm guessing you finally got a little bit of relief when I brought your wife to you...”_

_The Captain snorted. “She was too concerned with making herself more powerful and coddling our man-child son, so no. Although, she was not the one I wished to have in my bed.” He watched her intently as she continued to play with his coat buttons then picked off a small piece of lint from the collar._

_“Oh?” Abbie slipped her hand behind his neck and drew him in closer. His eyes widened and she knew the dilation of his pupils were more than just his being drunk. Truth be known, she was feeling more than a little frustrated herself and it had only been two years since she'd had any relief. She could only imagine how pent up the Captain was feeling after two hundred and something. She suddenly had a solution to_ both _of their problems. “We could go back to the room and see about working out some of those frustrations. What do you say, Captain?”_

_The Captain perked up at that idea. “I must say that is one of the best ideas I have ever heard.” He raised his beer in a small salute. “And I have heard a great many of ideas in my day.”_

Everything after that point, Abbie only recalled in bits and pieces. She wasn't sure if it was because standing up had caused a sudden rush of blood and alcohol to her head or if she chose to deny what happened after and literally blocked it from her memory to give herself a modicum of sanity the following morning.

However at any moment, with just a small brush of his hand or he could say something or make a noise, hazy memory's would leap forward and she would _remember_ his lips on her skin and she would have a brief flash of him looming over her, gasping for breath.

She just tried harder to push the images out of her head. The last thing she needed was to be distracted by the very small, practically microscopic attraction she felt to him.

  
#  


Ichabod had lain awake long after the Siren had fled from his bed. He had felt warm and at peace until she had realized what had taken place the night before whilst they were incredibly intoxicated. If he thought about it, memories of her arms wrapped around him came to surface in a blurry haze. He could recall seeing her as a beautiful goddess and revelling in the taste of her on his tongue and how her nails scrapped down his back.

Or perhaps he was just dreaming again.

The Siren, however, was adamantly in denial that _anything_ had happened. She had been since Hawaii. If he so much as hinted that anything had happened, she would glare at him and tell him to hush. Sometimes she would go so far as to leave the room. However, on a flight from Sydney to London, it was rather hard for her to escape. And they yet had several hours until they made it to the London-Heathrow after departing their layover in Singapore.

“How long are you going to deny what happened in Hawaii?” he asked once they had reached cruising altitudes.

She slowly turned her head, a tight smile on her lips. “That depends, Captain, how badly do you want me to strangle you for bringing it up after I have asked you to _not_ do that?” she asked sweetly.

Ichabod gently took her hand in his and kissed the back of it. “My dear, Siren, your hands are entirely too small strangle me.”

“I'm resourceful. I can find something to strangle you with,” she hissed, pulling her hand away. “Unless you get off on that kind of thing, which then I won't strangle you.” She picked up the flight magazine and pretended to be interested in an article about uniform changes, muttering something about him being one of the only guys on the planet that wanted to talk about their feelings. 

He looked at her questioningly for a moment then shrugged indifferently. “All right, since Hawaii is off of the table... What about last night?” 

She glowered at him once again. “If you do not shut up, I will end you.”

“It was a simple query,” he pointed out. “I assumed you were so adamantly in denial because of the role alcohol played in the night in Hawaii. And neither of us can recollect, precisely what occurred. Alcohol played no part in what occurred last night...”

“You assumed wrong,” the Siren replied briskly. “I am in denial because I have spent a better part of the last two years fighting you and your Demon Family Robinson buddies. And I am not about to let myself get tangled up with one of the bad guys...” She leaned in close and poked him in the chest. “I will _not_ be one of your victories.”

Ichabod felt a pang in his chest. “Is that what you think you are to me?”

“Aren't I?” she asked. 

“God, no,” Ichabod scoffed. “I am insulted you would think so lowly of me... that I would see your invitation into your bed as a... _victory_.” He searched her face. “If anyone could claim victory, Siren, it is you. I would gladly fall to my knees in surrender before you if that is what you require...”

“But for how long?” the Siren asked. “What if someone else comes along and wants to start up the Apocalypse again? How long until you run away, hide, and refuse to fight?” He gapped for words, unable to counter her reasoning. She slipped the magazine back into the pocket of the seat in front of her. “And that's why none of the stuff that's happened between us... _ever happened_.”

Ichabod politely folded his hands in his lap to hide his twitching fingers. “Very well,” he said quietly. “I shall try to remember that next time you invite yourself into my room to 'check on me'.”

The Siren looked at him sharply. “Hey, now that's...” She paused and looked away. He was sorely tempted to ask her if she was going to proclaim his small act of resistance as 'unfair' but then thought better of it. “ _Fine_ ,” she snipped. “That's perfectly fine. You're a grown man I don't need to check on you anyway.”

She folded her arms over her chest and sank down in her seat, bottom lip poking out as though she were a petulant child and not a full grown woman. Ichabod settled into his own seat and sighed heavily as he stared out of the window. He pursed his lips when he realized, in the darkness of night, there was not much to admire.

However, if he leaned his seat back _just_ enough... He could see _her_. He could see look she gave him. It was a look that ached, that yearned, was helpless and vulnerable. He knew it well, he had seen it numerous times in his own mirror. Ichabod closed his eyes and tried to block it all out.

He knew he had to be patient whilst the Siren sorted out her _feelings_ , even if he had to set aside his own. Additionally, he was a very patient man. He would wait a thousand years if that was how long it took her to decide if she wanted to forge their fates together or continue apart.

  
#  


_London_...

Abbie cracked the door to her bedroom in the suite open and peeped out. He was at it again. Music blaring and dancing around the kitchen as he followed the instructions of whatever TV chef had caught his attention earlier that day. In this case it was Nadia G paired with some noisy punk rock tune.

But whatever it was he was cooking... smelled wonderful. And it was kind of amusing watching him cringe every time the musical artist just started screaming for no apparent reason.

It was very surreal seeing the man she had been actively hating for the past two years acting like a big, goofy, dork—bobbing along to the beat of the music and talking to whatever he was cooking as though it were some foe he had outsmarted. Somewhere along the way, she realized she had started picturing him as some large, imposing figure, hell bent on destroying her.

But, between the time she had spent in his care while injured and this trip... she was really starting to wonder if maybe he was telling the truth. Had all the things she had seen as attacks really just been him trying to do his own thing since the other's kept him locked in a room? He _did_ seem to be thriving now that he was learning more about the world around him. His hands were no where near as fidgety as they had been.

Of course she was trying not to make any kind of correlation between the lack of twitchy hands and _Hawaii and Sydney_. Even though that had been when the decline of fidgety fingers had begun. 

Abbie wasn't sure how long she had been standing there, spying on him, when he suddenly went ridged. He clicked off music and turned the volume off on the cooking video. _Dammit_ , Abbie thought. _He must have spotted her_.

“I anticipate that dinner shall be done in about ten minutes,” he said simply. “I have prepared more than enough for the both of us, should you wish to join me, Siren.”

Yep, he had definitely spotted her.

“What are we having?” Abbie asked tentatively, easing out of her room and across to the kitchen.

“Filet Mignon with a maple balsamic reduction, roasted cherry tomatoes, and parmesan potato croquettes,” he replied without looking in her direction, focusing intently on his task of tenting aluminium foil around whatever he had placed inside.

Abbie eased into one of the bar seats and tilted her head as she continued observing him. After a moment he started to quietly finish preparations of the croquettes. Two weeks they had been in London so far. _Two weeks_. They had been travelling for almost eight months. In all, she was pretty impressed that she had only accosted him twice while on the trip.

If she had been a weaker woman, that probably would have been her daily number.

 _Damn_. What was she even thinking? Had she let all the adventuring, drinking together, and him cooking dinners for them get to her? Or maybe it was all part of his plan... maybe he was trying to get her to think he was absolutely harmless. Then when they returned to Sleepy Hollow... _bam_ robot army taking over the city and she wouldn't do anything because she had “feelings” conflicting her decisions.

The Captain gently stirred the contents of a pot then reached into an over head cabinet to retrieve a bottle of wine and two glasses. He set them on the counter then went to another cabinet to get out two plates and also got flatware from one of the drawers.

“What if... I wasn't the Siren... what if I really was Doctor Abigail Adams,” Abbie asked curiously. 

He arched a brow, finally looking at her. Something playfully wicked danced in his eyes. “I would suggest a career change as your historical knowledge on the American Revolution is abysmal at best,” he commented. “You are much better suited to being a masked vigilante.” 

“Ha. Ha.” Abbie said dryly. “I've learned quite a bit the last couple of years. Do you have any idea how hard it was to figure out Franklin's Alphabet?” His smile spread. Abbie stared at him. “You know Franklin's Alphabet. _Of course_ you know Franklin's Alphabet.”

He nodded lightly. “I do,” he said lightly. “I can also speak and translate several otherwise dead languages.”

“Smart ass.” Abbie narrowed her eyes. “Was one of them by chance Middle English?” she asked. When he looked away with a smug smirk, she sighed with irritation. “I am going to kill Irving. No wonder he wouldn't tell me who his linguistics expert was on that one.”

“You would be surprised how many times I managed to inadvertently assist you and vice versa,” the Captain commented as he filled the plates with his prepared feast.

“Wait... what?” Abbie said. “When have _I_ assisted _you_ inadvertently?” He couldn't be referring to his wife because she had done that on purpose. It may have been a bad decision in hindsight, but she had still done it willingly and knowingly.

“Your proclivity for using explosives proved to be rather beneficial at times,” he replied. “You have no idea how often it enabled me to escape from my confines.” He poured them both a glass of the dark red wine then procured a chair to have a seat on the other side of the peninsula from her. “Hopefully this feast is not as disastrous as the one a few days ago.”

Abbie felt a small smile pull at the corner of her lips. “Well, thankfully I keep an epi pen handy because of my sister and we're close to a hospital. Though... hell of a way to find out you have a shellfish allergy.”

“Indeed,” he drawled. He lifted his glass in a toast. “To the hope that neither one of us learn of allergies the hard way ever again.”

A small laugh escaped Abbie's lips and she raised her glass. “I'll drink to that,” she replied. Although it had been terrifying at the time, they were able to make light of it at this point in time. “So, anyway... back to my original query... how do you think we would get along if I _wasn't_ the Siren and you were not the Captain. What if we were just... Doctor Abigail Adams and... Captain Ichabod Crane?”

He was quiet for a long moment as he contemplated her question and chewed a roasted cherry tomato. “If our current amicable partnership can be used as an indication... I would say we would probably get on quite well. Perhaps there would even be the possibility of a romantic relationship to develop.”

Abbie's brows arched in interest. “What about something beyond just sex?” she asked as he was taking a drink of his wine. “I mean... that's how it was back in your day, right?”

His eyes cut toward her and his glass stayed frozen at his lips. He slowly set his glass down. “And why would it be such? Neither you nor I are betrothed or wed. I foresee no complications.”

She knew he knew what she was getting at. “Are you playing stupid on purpose or do you really not get what I am hinting at?”

“If you are _hinting_ that the colour of your skin would relegate to you being only my mistress or casual partner, you are greatly mistaken, Doctor,” he said with a slightly offended tone. “Whilst not prevalent, it was not unheard of even in, as you call it, _my day_. And it would _hardly_ be the first time I was betrothed to woman of colour.”

Abbie nearly choked on croquette. “That's not the kind of thing you can spring on a girl unexpectedly, Captain. I'm gonna need details. I can only imagine your parents were furious.”

“Oh they were... but not for the reason you would think,” the Captain replied. “Belle and I met whilst I was in attendance at Eton College. I was delivering a manuscript from one of the instructors to the publishing company she employed at, we bonded over our love of books. My mother thought I should marry above my status and Belle was a humble book binder and proof reader. My father was concerned about the fact she was French. Like most British citizens at that time... he hated the French.”

Abbie hid a smirk as she sipped at her wine. That certainly explained his sudden interest in her in 1781 after she claimed to be a French spy. “You were only after her in hopes she'd sneak you copy of a new book,” she teased.

“Good Lord, you sound like my mother,” the Captain scoffed. “I shall tell you the same thing I told her... I _do_ think about things other than books. Belle's father was just as opposed. Her mother had died many years prior. But we were young and in love...”

“I have a feeling this has a very sad ending...” Abbie commented.

The Captain shrugged indifferently. “Ultimately her father sent her back to France and forbid her from having contact with me. If the genealogy website is to be believed... she wed and had three children. Lived to the age of 79.”

“Maybe not so sad after all,” Abbie amended. “Actually... that's kind of a sweet story in the long run.” She tried not to picture him as a young and awkward school boy flirting with a pretty, French book binder, adamantly defending her honour, and pleading for approval from a stern, single father. If Abbie did that she might start getting thoughts like—oh who the hell was she kidding she was already having thoughts that he was capable of behaving like a normal and rational human being with feelings and emotions.

“What of you, Doctor Adams?” 

Abbie blinked at him, perplexed by the fact he had been referring to her as Doctor or Dr. Adams since she had asked her question. He was watching her expectantly, a tiny glimmer in his eyes. Was... was he trying to get to _know_ her as something other than the woman that constantly broke into his house and escaped the masonic cell?

“What _about_ me?” Abbie asked briskly.

The glimmer escaped his eyes and he blankly watched movement of the wine as he swirled it in his glass for a moment. “Has there ever been a love which your family did not approve of?”

Abbie thought long and hard. When she was younger it had always been _her_ that families didn't approve of because she was _one of those Mills girls_. It had sort of stuck with her, long after she had gotten her life in order. Something she doubted she would ever truly be able to escape. “Can't say that there has been,” she replied quietly.

She dug into her filet and felt like melting in a puddle. “This is good...” They ate in silence for a moment then Abbie spoke again. “Now, when you say Belle was a woman of colour and French... was she... just dark complexed or...”

“She was, as Nurse Latisha says... _a sista_.”

Abbie snorted and put the back of her hand over her mouth to keep food from falling out. She didn't know what had been more absurd... his grasp of modern terms or the fact he had looked so damn proud of himself for using it properly. She pulled her hand away from her mouth and waved it in front of her face to fan herself. “Please give me just a little bit of warning before you use modern phrases... That... That's something I have to be mentally prepared for,” she laughed.

He looked concerned. “Did I use it incorrectly?”

Abbie shook her head. “No... no. You used it right it's just... that little—” She did her best to mimic the little preen he had done “—you did just sort of... killed me.” After a moment of her laughing, she realized he was staring at her oddly. “What?”

The Captain's face flushed and he looked back down at his plate. “Nothing,” he said, shaking his head lightly.

“Um... no. You're not getting off that easy. What is it?” Abbie asked.

He glanced up at her then back down. “I do not think I have ever heard such a melodic sound as your laughter,” he said quietly. “And the way light dances in your eyes when you do so... makes me think, perhaps you have stolen stars from the very sky itself.”

Clearing her throat, Abbie set down her fork. “Well... Doctor Abigail Adams loves to laugh and has plenty of reasons to do so.”

“Does she?” the Captain asked softly.

Abbie sipped at her wine. When she lowered her glass, she nodded. “She has a reputable job. Her and sister get along wonderfully. A couple of friends that sent her on a vacation with a very handsome man that just happened to come from the era she specializes in... and he's single. And so is she.” She wrinkled her nose. “And maybe she has a cat. She would definitely have time to have a cat. Or a dog... I don't know. Probably not a dog. Because she doesn't like the little yappie ones and a big one would walk her more than her walking it.”

“And dogs do not purr,” the Captain pointed out.

“Good point. She definitely has a cat,” Abbie replied. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth as he stared at her. A small shiver coursed up her spine as she recognized _that particular_ glimmer in his eyes. “And what about Captain Crane?” she asked, her voice sounding unintentionally alluring. “Not _the_ Captain... what about our displaced revolutionary man?”

His head tilted as he set down his utensils. “He has been... quite lonely since awakening in this strange but exciting era,” he replied levelly. “He was... _is_ still quite perplexed and afraid of everything. But he is suddenly finding himself quite intrigued by a very lovely university professor who is giving him a guided tour of the world which he now lives... and it is making the world around him seem just a little more hospitable.” A small smirk appeared on his lips. “And he is very curious as to what sort of little noises she would make if he were to pleasure her with only his mouth and fingers... _again_.”

Abbie's face suddenly felt like it was on fire. “That's not fair,” she hissed, shifting in her seat. Of course, now all she could picture in her mind was his head between her legs. It didn't help that she was also recollecting how soft his hair felt when caught in her fists and his hands—God, damn those big hands—griping her hips to hold her still as she bucked and thrust against his mouth. “Dammit.”

She shifted in her seat again. He was playing dirty. And he knew he was playing dirty. She knew because he had that God damn innocent look on his face. _Yes you smug little shit_ , she wanted to say. _I am thinking about Sydney_.

“Problems, Doctor?” he practically purred.

Oh wait, that wasn't an innocent look like she had thought. That was a look that was interested in devouring something other than a filet mignon. Abbie leaned toward him, keeping her eyes locked on his. “Well, Doctor Abigail Adams would be very interested in helping him research that subject he is curious about.”

“ _Would she_?” he asked, slipping from his seat. He picked up his wine glass and finished off the contents before plugging the bottle back up with the rubber cork.

Abbie finished off her glass as well and scrambled from her seat. “Damn right she would.” Her shirt was off and flung somewhere into the sitting area before she was two steps away from the kitchen counter. Followed shortly by her bra. She turned, covering herself when she heard the tell-a-tale sounds of the Captain tripping over the seating that flanked the counter. She laughed softly when she saw he had actually gotten himself tangled up in one of the chairs and was in the process of yanking his foot free, losing a house slipper in the process.

She turned back to her room and bound toward it, the Captain following after and slamming the door closed behind them. Abbie gasped as she was whirled around, lifted, and placed on top of the in-room desk she used to house all of her hair supplies and various toiletries. Said items were almost immediately knocked to the side, a few of them finding their way to the floor in the process. 

In her history, men had almost always went “straight for the prize.” If a guy wanted to go down on her, as soon as she was where he could do so, he would drop right down to his knees to get busy. 

Although, Sydney probably should have maybe prepared her for the events that would soon be unfurling... it hadn't. He had in no shape, form, or fashion prepared her for what was to come. Sure he had taken his dear sweet time in Sydney, yes he had reduced her to a sweat-drenched, sobbing mess—because it had felt _that_ good—and she had really had to long hard look at her life choices afterwards.

She had fully expected an encore of the events. Only this time she would be more prepared and probably be able to contain herself with a little more decorum. However, Captain Ichabod Crane had a standing history of driving her insane and doing things in a manner she never really expected.

Which meant it came as no _real_ surprise when he rested his forehead against hers, his breath ghosting over her lips as his fingers trailed up from her sides. His hands flattened against her waist as soon as he reached skin, moving slowly up her body until he cupped her breasts. Her eyes fluttered closed and Abbie softly sighed as his fingers gently massaged and squeezed the weight of her breasts. She gripped the edge of the desk with one hand and pawed uselessly at the wall for something to hold onto until it occurred to her that the only sturdy thing she could grasp with that particular hand was Ichabod's shoulder.

Her legs spread, inviting him closer as her hand rested on his shoulder then slipped behind his neck. She tilted her head back, offering her mouth, hoping for a kiss. Instead he brushed his lips along her hairline, delicately making his way from one temple to the other before making his way along her jaw, nibbled lightly at her chin, then kissed his way back to where he began. Soft kisses were dotted along her brow, then her eyelids, the apples of her cheeks, the tip of her nose, then at each corner of her mouth.

His thumbs were gently coaxing her nipples into tight, hardened peaks.

“Captain Crane,” Abbie said, almost breathlessly but nonetheless playfully scandalized. “Are you trying to _seduce me_ or _drive me insane_?”

Ichabod's hands abandoned her breasts, and without losing contact with her skin, glided around her body and pulled her close. “Yes,” he replied hotly, then lightly nipped at her bottom lip. “Please let me know if it's working.”

Considering her current state, he was executing both admirably. “You... ass,” Abbie growled then laughed softly as she tugged at the front of his shirt until it pulled free of his trousers. 

He sucked in a sharp breath the moment her hands touched his skin then grasped her wrists to pull them away. His pupils were blown wide and looked like he was teetering the fine line of going insane himself. “ _That_ is very dangerous territory, Doctor,” he murmured. He brought her hands to his lips and kissed her palms softly before nuzzling them.

A smile slowly pulled across Abbie's lips and she lightly pulled her wrists from his loose grip. “I don't mind a little danger...” She leaned in and kissed his neck. “Besides, why should you get to have all the fun?”

“Good Lord,” his breathed then held her at arms length. He took a couple of calming breaths then grasped her hands. “You clearly under-estimate just how dizzying your touch can be. How _over-whelming_ I find it to be. All I ask is that you tread carefully and not instigate anything which you have no plans to see through to completion.”

Abbie caught her bottom lip between her teeth as she grinned impishly. “No, I'm not under estimating it. I know _exactly_ what it does to you,” she said softly. Her hands slipped back underneath his shirt. He groaned helplessly as her fingers crept higher.

“Why must you torment me so?” he asked, his head falling back. Abbie seized the chance to give his neck a tiny bite, then latched on with her mouth while her fingernails scratched down his sides. His knees buckled and he grasped the desk and planted a hand against the wall to keep from completely collapsing.

When she released his neck, she did so with a tiny smack of her lips then lightly traced the saltiness of his skin that lingered. “Why?” she asked. “Because... you show nothing but resilient restraint _constantly_. You get stretched to your limits when _I_ start touching _you_. And I'm just curious to see how hard I have to push to make you _break_.”

Ichabod forced himself to take several steps back. His eyes were impossibly dark as he panted for breath. He closed his eyes as he leaned back against the wall. Abbie wondered if maybe she had accidentally pushed the wrong button. “Why?” he asked, his voice heavy and raspy. “So you can deny it? So you can once again pretend it didn't happen? Twice. _Twice_ , you have pushed me to the very edges of my limitations... Once that we know without a doubt actually occurred. Yet you still deny it... Hiding behind another mask...” His head turned toward her, weak and weary as he gazed at her. “The mask of a false persona...”

Abbie's heart started beating rapidly. She wasn't sure if it was in panic or something else. “My name is Abigail,” she said quietly.

Ichabod snorted, then looked down at his feet. He shook his head and laughed bitterly. “Perhaps I _am_ an idiot. I'm almost inclined to believe you.”

“My friends call me Abbie,” she offered. 

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Of course they do,” he said dryly.

Abbie almost laughed at the irony that she was telling the truth, the whole truth, and he didn't believe her. Of course that was sort of the running hazard of using one's real name as their fake name.

When Ichabod sighed again, his head dropped back and thudded against the wall. “Is it too much to ask for someone that wants to _love me_ and not play games or have some kind of motivation behind it?” he asked quietly.

A lump formed in Abbie's throat. She swallowed hard. _Love_? Is that what he was wanting? For a moment Abbie felt dizzy headed. Warning bells were going off in her head. Just before she felt herself slowly slipping into a panic attack, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and counted backwards to herself.

“If that someone is me,” she replied slowly, once she reached zero. “Then, yeah, it is too much.” Abbie grasped his arm when he gave a dejected sigh. “ _But_ , not because it's _you_. Well... that plays a tiny part but... that's just... how I am, okay? I don't do... the 'L' word. For anybody.”

Ichabod nodded curtly. “Understood.”

Abbie reached up and turned his face toward her. “ _However_... what I _can_ give you is... Hawaii. I can give you Sydney.” She ran her thumb over his bottom lip. He brought a hand up to cover hers. “And... I can give you anything else that might happen between now and returning to Sleepy Hollow.”

He slid his hand down to lightly grasp her wrist. She felt her heart flutter when, as he almost always did when they were in such a position, kissed her open palm. Then the Captain pressed her palm to his forehead for a brief before sighing heavily and kissing her palm again. He enveloped her hand in both of his and held it over his heart. “I am afraid I must decline your most generous offer, Siren.”

The only thing that hit Abbie like a swift kick to her gut harder than what he had said was the pained look in his eyes as he kissed the tips of her fingers then released her hand. He seemed to struggle—both of his hands fidgeting at his sides and he pulled them back abruptly when he made to reach for her—for something further to say but then squeezed his eyes shut, turned, and walked out of her room. Her door closed quietly behind him.

Abbie closed her eyes and took a calming breath. After a moment she nodded to herself. Maybe it was better this way, she told herself. Maybe it was dangerous playing the 'don't fall in love' game with him. Or, as she learned barely two hours later, he would change his mind after taking council with his trusted friends, Latisha and Carol.

  
#  


Ichabod thumped his forehead against the tiny desk in his room repeatedly after he hit 'send' on the electronic mail—whilst it would never replace sending an actual hand-written letter in his opinion, it _did_ do wonders for when he wished to share information with his friends back home immediately. He wasn't even entirely certain they would receive it for several hours as he knew both would be just only returning from work or class.

However, merely half an hour after sending it, his computer began chiming eagerly, alerting him that 'Mrs & Mrs. Ouchi-Jackson' were trying to contact him over Skype. Ichabod quickly clicked the button to answer the call, a few seconds later Carol's cheery face was filling the box. “Hi, Honey, how are ya doin'?” she greeted, her Wisconsin accent pitching near the end. “Tishy is still about five minutes out from getting home but I've already called her and read her your email. And to answer your first query...” She held up a picture frame containing her newly received doctorate. She did a little dance with her framed diploma. “I am officially... _Doctor_ Carol M. Ouchi-Jackson, _Psy.D_.”

“There will indeed be much to celebrate upon my return,” Ichabod commented.

Carol set down her diploma. “ _And_... Melody _adored_ all the Sailor Moon stuff you sent her for her birthday. She had _no idea_ what the wall scroll says but _loves it_. But we all know how much she adores her 'Rei-chan'.”

They exchanged more pleasantries, spoke of events in Sleepy Hollow—or rather the lack thereof—of how Melody had almost gotten suspended for punching a boy that made fun of her for having two mothers. They were in the midst of Ichabod telling her about how he had managed to secure access to some hidden sections of Oxford and was going to peruse them in the morning when they both jumped at the sound of the door slamming on Carol's side.

“ _Do you still have my Baby on the computer_?” he heard Miss Latisha call... and she did not sound pleased. Displeased Latisha was never a good thing.

“Yes Tishy, Ichabod is still on Skype,” Carol called back.

A few seconds later, Latisha pulled a seat up beside Carol and plopped down. She gave him a stern look and held up a silencing finger when Ichabod made to speak. When he attempted it again, after a moment of quiet, she waved her finger like a disapproving mother. “Nah-uh. Give me a minute to just... No.” She shook her head. “You mean to tell me, Joey Corbin sent you on a trip around the world with the same woman that keeps breaking into your house, stealing your shit, and harassing you constantly?” Ichabod made to speak but she jutted her finger up again. “I am not done...” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “And not only that... this is the same woman you have been talking about like she's got pretty angel wings and a halo. The woman you have been just short of obsessed with since you first saw her... and you mean to tell me _you said no_ when she offered herself to you?”

“When said in that manner...” Ichabod murmured quietly. “It seems you are disappointed. I thought you had said I deserved love just as any other...”

Latisha rubbed her eyes. “Lord help me...” she groaned. Carol giggled cutely. “Lord give me the strength to not reach through the internet and slap some sense into this man...” She lowered her hand from her eyes. “I don't care what kind of limitations she put on things. She gave you an invitation. Now is not the time to backslide into your old customs and try to be all proper. You've been wanting a modern relationship. Here's your chance.”

Carol nodded in agreement. “And generally speaking when someone adamantly states they don't fall in love that means someone hurt them. Made them feel like they don't deserve to be loved. So maybe she just needs to be reminded that... she deserves to have love too. I mean... not that I know about how the human mind works or anything...” She picked up her diploma and looked at Latisha adoringly as she did her little dance again.

Latisha looked down at the tiny Japanese woman and shook her head. “What am I going to do with you?” She looked back at Ichabod. “All we're saying, Baby, is if she is offering and you want her as much as you say you do... go get her Tiger. If it works out to something more... great. If it doesn't, Carol and me will be right here with sappy chick flicks and rocky road ice cream when you come home. And if that doesn't work... Carol would love to come make use of your kitchen again.”

“One of the harder parts of love is putting your neck out and leaving yourself vulnerable to getting hurt,” Carol added. “But like Tishy said, we'll be here when you get home. And I will definitely cook the feast to end all feasts in your gorgeous kitchen.” She got a dreamy look in her eyes. “I would love to marvel at that walk-in fridge again...”

“I have said you are all more than welcome to inhabit the manor whilst I am away,” Ichabod said. “Mister Joseph and his betrothed are currently staying. I am certain they would enjoy the company.”

“I am not living anywhere demons are prone to running around,” Latisha commented dryly. “And Jenny is on my shit-list right now.”

“Molly was properly vanquished, so that would not be an issue,” Ichabod pointed out. “Although... considering we do not yet know the location of the Headless Horseman... perhaps your decision to not inhabit the manor is the best. And I dare not ask what offense Miss Jenny has perpetrated.”

“You can stop trying to avoid going and gettin' busy with your girl, Ichabod,” Latisha said with a chuckle. 

“What if she has changed her mind?” Ichabod asked.

“Then you take the 'no' like a gentleman and wait until she offers again,” Carol replied. “Because if she's offered once—not to mention you two have already had a little something—she's probably going to offer again if you let her know you've changed your mind.”

“Now _go_ ,” Latisha added. “You and your pretty little Siren have fun and stay safe over there. And don't go unleashing Cthulhu or anything...”

“Thank you both for your counsel,” Ichabod said, lightly bowing his head in gratitude. “And congratulations upon achieving your diploma, Miss Carol. I look forward to when the three of us can once again see each other face to face. And please, give my salutations to young Miss Melody.”

Miss Latisha waved softly as she promised to tell Melody 'hi'. Miss Carol blew him a kiss. And then their smiling faces disappeared from his computer screen. 

After closing down the laptop and closing it, Ichabod took a moment to collect his facilities and stood. He smoothed down his shirt after tucking it back in—and he momentarily wondered if, perhaps he should not have... would the Siren find it offensive that he had gotten rid of the evidence of what they had done earlier?—and then he adjusted the collar of his coat... then adjusted it again because he wasn't happy with how it felt... then he just removed his coat because it suddenly felt too hot and uncomfortable.

He stepped quietly out of his room and was taken aback by the sight he beheld. All the lights in the suite were out, save one in the kitchen, where the Siren was putting away leftovers and cleaning up the remnants of dinner. She wore nothing more than a pair of tiny shorts and a top that left much of her stomach exposed. Her hair was bound up with a bright yellow scarf as she walked back and forth humming softly. When she stepped around the counter, he could see she was also barefoot.

She glanced in his direction as he stood frozen outside of his room then she quickly looked away. It took his mind a minute to catch up and realize she was not wearing the glasses which obscured her identity. After a moment, the pieces in his mind connected and he suddenly knew who she was.

Not her _name_ but why she seemed so familiar... Transfixed and wide-eyed, he walked toward her. She paused what she was doing and looked up at him when he stopped at the edge of the kitchen and peered at her from around the over-head cabinets. “What?” she asked flatly. “You cooked so I'm cleaning up. Just like you clean up when I cook.”

“I know who you are,” he said with amazement, as she turned to put the emptied plates into the sink.

The plates fell into the sink with a loud clatter and the Siren turned toward him, her eyes wide. “What do you mean, you know who I am?”

“I do not know your name...” he clarified. “But since we have met I have been wondering why you seemed to familiar. Now I know why... you are _her_.” He approached the Siren and took her face in his hands. “The officer from the sheriff's department the night I awoke...”

Her expression turned to steel. “Yeah that was me... But I'm not with the police any more so don't even think of sniffing around the department trying to find me.” She grasped his wrists and pulled them away from her face. “You don't get to touch me like that if you don't plan on doing anything about it.”

The Siren tilted her head up just enough to give herself the regal guise that made him think of her as some ancient queen or goddess who refused to let something as trivial as her short stature allow anyone to make her feel small. For a moment he could see her sitting on the top steps of an alter, clad in a multi-layered gown of crimson, orange, and yellow that glimmered in the sunlight—surrounded by her temple maidens, young men dressed as women, and men and women both dressed in the armour of warriors—her hair in long unruly curls, smiling at the offerings her worshippers brought forth to her.

Ichabod closed his eyes and gently shook the image from the forefront of his mind. “I fear I may have reacted somewhat impulsively and irrationally,” he said carefully. 

Her brows arched with interest and she leaned back against the counter, folding her arms over her chest. “Go on...” she said cautiously.

He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand then lowered his hand to his side, trying to contain the twitching of his fingers by drumming them against his leg. “And, if it is not too late to do so... I would like to retract my previous response and offer a new suggestion in its stead.”

A tiny smile curved one corner of her mouth. “I'm listening...”

“All I see when I look at you is a wondrous, shimmering goddess...” Ichabod said, taking her hands. “And whilst you are gracing me with your holy presence... please, permit me to worship you.”

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth as her eyes darkened. A throaty laughter trickled from between her lips. “Oh? And how would you do _that_?”

“Allow me to demonstrate?” he asked.

“Please do, Captain.”


	3. Of Crypts and Magic Dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear every time I update this fic I plan an additional chapter.

Initially, Abbie had thought the Captain would pick her up and carry her off to the bedroom to commence his 'worshipping' by starting where he had left off earlier. Much to her surprise, she wasn't too far off. However, instead of carrying her off, the Captain pushed her shorts down her hips and they fell in a silky puddle at her feet, he then lifted her up and sat her on the counter.

She was secretly a little miffed that, even in their current position, she was hardly taller than him. Barely. And she didn't know why it annoyed her so much. However, Abbie suddenly found herself unable to dwell upon her mild annoyance or the fact he was so tall. His lips stole every ounce of her attention as they ghosted over hers.

While Abbie was fairly certain the Captain could easily drag everything out over the course of the night and drive her completely over the edge before bringing things to their inevitable conclusion... Abbie was not that patient. It was taking everything in her will power to refrain from hopping down off the counter, stomp her foot, and declare that she had needs, dammit... and hours of agonizingly pleasurable foreplay was not one of those needs at this moment.

She slid her hands between their bodies and made quick work of the buttons of his breeches and shoved them down his hips. The Captain swore when she wrapped a firm hand around his cock and he thrust into her grip. Abbie cackled wickedly. “So Mister Prim and Proper _does_ use the 'f word',” she teased.

“If you had any idea of how long it has been since I was touched in such an intimate manner...” he said raggedly. 

Abbie put a finger over his lips. “I wasn't complaining,” she said softly then replaced her finger with her mouth. She moved closer to the edge of the counter. Unlike the place she had recently purchased, the counter was a little too high to permit what they had in mind.

Not that she had thought about having sex with the Captain at her house. She _definitely_ had _not_ thought about how the island was just a little lower than the other counter tops. And she certainly had not wondered if his height would allot certain advantages. At least intentionally. She had started out wondering just in general, and next she knew she was picturing the Captain.

_They were just two people on vacation._

_Just two people on vacation, about to be having sex._

The Captain grasped her ass and lifted her off of the counter and deposited her on one of the barstools. “My beloved, Siren...” he murmured against her lips. “I must know... are you...” He pulled back and she could see a like flush on the apples of his cheeks. “Have you ever... Am I correct in assuming you have...”

Abbie eyed him for a moment, wondering exactly _what_ was so important that he stop. “Have I... what?” she asked, unsure of what he was getting at.

“Are you... still a... maiden,” he asked, the flush of his cheeks turning bright pink.

The question caught her off guard, but once it sank in what he was asking, Abbie couldn't help but laugh. “No, I'm not,” she replied. “Is... is that okay?” He smirked lightly and nodded. “Good.”

“I had assumed, with your enthusiasm in Sydney, that you were not,” he said. “But I preferred to know for certain.”

_Her_ enthusiasm in Sydney? Abbie felt her face warm. She hadn't been the _only_ enthusiastic one, she wanted to point out. _He_ was the one that had be relentless with his mouth and fingers to the point she had reached orgasm _three_ times, to the point she'd had one hand trying to push him away and another trying to pull him closer by his hair. Yes, she had all but begged him to fuck her after the third orgasm; but by then he had already spent himself in his trousers because he had been so single-mindedly focused on pleasuring her.

Abbie caught her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment then grinned. “Well, Captain, I assure you, there is absolutely no reason to be gentle,” she said playfully and curled her tongue behind her teeth. “In fact, I encourage the opposite of gentle.”

His mouth went slack and his eyes widened, his pupils dilating. The Captain's tongue darted out to moisten his lips. Abbie barely had time to wonder what the hell she had just unleashed before he was filling her over and over again.

She had never been particularly loud in bed. But the Captain was hitting all the right spots with each hard thrust, burying himself to the hilt each time. However, she could tell he was trying hard to find his rhythm in their current position. She wrapped her arms around his neck and nipped his earlobe. “Take me to bed, Captain,” she whispered hoarsely. 

In another case of expectations verses reality, she had thought he would withdraw from her and they would run to the bedroom. Instead, he ended up hoisting her off the seat, her legs wrapping around his hips. When she thought she was going to lose the hard weight of him inside of her, he pinned her against the refrigerator and drove himself back inside of her. Next was the back of the sofa, then the wall, next to the door to his room.

They fell onto his bed in a tangle of arms and legs. From there, his mouth and hands were everywhere. One moment he would be tenderly touching her face, the next he was grasping her ankles and placing tiny kisses on each of her toes. Then he would be nipping and sucking on the flesh of her breasts and before she could register _that_ he was on his knees, between her legs, grasping her hips and slammed into her with the same single-minded focus his mouth had used in Sydney.

The only thing Abbie could do was hold on tightly to the pillow. Her back arched away from the bed as she felt every fibre of her being coiling to where their bodies were crashing together. “Don't stop, Ichabod...” she whimpered. Her breath caught in her throat at the look that crossed his features at her use of his actual name. “Don't you _dare_ think what I think you're thinking.”

“I shall think whatever I please,” the Captain growled against her lips.

He kissed her deeply, stealing any argument she may have had against him thinking she could possibly love him. She told herself again that it wasn't love. _This_ was _just_ sex, nothing more, nothing less.

His fingers grazed her hip and his hand slipped behind her back, cradling her against him as he slowed his pace so they were gently rocking together. What had once been loud moans became soft sighs. Even when she closed her eyes and tried to think of someone _other than him_ she couldn't.

“You... asshole,” Abbie groaned, gripping a fistful of his hair. How dare he. He wasn't suppose to make her feel... things... that definitely wasn't love but couldn't exactly be classified as pure lust either. And denial had nothing to do with it.

He lifted his head, a twinkle was in his eyes. “Perhaps. But I'm yours.” He cupped her cheek with his free hand and rested his forehead against hers. “And I shall wait an eternity if that is what is required for you to return my affections.”

There was something at the very edges of her mind, like a long distant memory of him saying the same thing. A different time. A different place. “Don't tempt me,” Abbie murmured. “'Cause I'll do it.”

“And I would expect nothing less of you,” Ichabod replied.

“You'll just get hurt,” she reminded.

“I do not care,” he said quietly.

She was done warning him. If one day, he grew impatient, she would have to just remind him that he had known what he was getting into. He would only have himself to blame for getting hurt. 

For now she would treasure the feel of his mouth on her skin, making her feel... something she refused to put a name to. She'd enjoy the feel of his hair between her fingers, his hot breath against her lips as they frantically raced toward completion. She was certainly going to revel in the way that coiling feeling finally broke and she fell apart in Ichabod's arms.

And when he followed after her moments later, she would still refuse to name that warm feeling that surrounded her when he held her wrapped up in his arms as they succumbed to sleep.

  
#  


The guide peered at The Siren speculatively. “I was not made aware you would be bringing a guest,” the young man said stiffly. “Strictly speaking the murals are only meant to be viewed by those in The Order who are alumnus of Oxford.”

“Are these murals not important to the role of the Witnesses in the Apocalypse, Master O'Lithe?” Ichabod asked with a huff, his arm snaking around The Siren's waist and pulling her close to him.

The young man stammered for a moment. “Well... ye... yes... but... but...”

“Well, Doctor Adams is the second Witness, Master O'Lithe. Would you deny her access to crucial information for the sake of dated beliefs that only a few, privileged men should have access to knowledge?” Ichabod continued, making certain every ounce of righteous indignation he felt was adequately conveyed. “Or perhaps I should speak to the Vice Chancellor and you can explain why one of the Witnesses is not permitted inside? I have had quite enough of this malarkey which perpetrates that her role in this is not as important as mine. I _shall not_ have it.” 

The Siren gave the young man a look that dared him to further attempt to refuse her entry. Although, in the strictest sense, even if they did try to refuse her entry, Ichabod had no doubt she would find a way in anyway. 

Master O'Lithe gazed at the Siren for a long moment then turned to lead them down the corridor. Once he was ahead of them, The Siren turned to look back toward from whence they came. “Is there a problem, Siren?” Ichabod asked curiously.

She shook her head and linked her arm through his as he guided her down the corridor. “Nah... I was... just making sure I didn't lose my underwear back there.”

Ichabod felt his face warm. “I am well aware of what you are hinting,” he said, quietly scandalized. “And I fail to see how what just occurred was an event to make one's _panties_ drop.” 

The Siren giggled and leaned her cheek against his arm. “Say 'panties' again.”

“No.”

“Aw, come on... please?” she asked sweetly, looking up at him and fluttering her lashes just as he looked down at her. “I promise I won't try to get you to say 'hanky panky' any more.”

“That is truly tempting...” he replied in earnest. She had been giggling and trying to get him to say the phrase again, ever since he had let it slip the night before. “However, we are here on official Witnessing... business. We must remain diligent in our goal. Once we return to the hotel, I will say whatever silly words or phrases you desire.”

“Deal.”

That had been easy. Almost too easy. Ichabod eyed her suspiciously, wondering what was going on underneath all of those beautiful curls of hers. He was most pleased that she was not wearing the glasses. She had no idea how much it warmed his heart to look upon her unobstructed face. The beautiful angel that had once seemed his only chance at salvation when he was alone and scared... was his _partner_ in the Apocalypse. She was his lover. She was... his Siren. 

He would most assuredly follow her into the darkest pits of Hell if it came to it. He would follow her song until it drove him mad and made him cast himself into the sea. So long as he was able to remain at her side.

Ahead of them, Master O'Lithe had reached the end of the corridor. He turned toward them then reached back to push the wall backwards until a sizeable entry was revealed. “This is as far as I can go, sir... and miss. Like I said, generally speaking only alumnus are permitted to enter.” He glared at the Siren again and he pulled a face when she gave him a rude gesture. “When you're ready to leave...” he pointed to an old iron bracket that may have, once upon a time, served to hold a torch. “Give that a quarter turn to the right and pull straight out. The chamber will open. Just make certain no one is around when you come out.”

Ichabod turned to look around. The corridor, for the most part, was rather secluded and sectioned off for remodelling. He escorted her into the entry. The room smelled of dirt and staleness as the wall was slid back into place behind them. Ichabod clicked on his flash light and took a look at where they were. It was an old tunnel that appeared to have been neglected and forgotten. 

He stepped forward, holding out an arm to keep the Siren from bounding ahead of him. She glared up at him. “Whatever happened to 'ladies first'?” she huffed indignantly.

Ichabod rolled his eyes. “In a potentially dangerous situation a gentleman always goes forth first to assure the lady is protected and, if need be, has time to run to safety.”

“That's sexist.”

The Siren shoved right past him, her hips swaying as she strode forth with purpose, her flash light illuminating the way. He watched her retreating figure, torn between being annoyed or aroused by her antics. After a moment, he shook his head, sighed, and followed after her.

“I shall have you know it was not because we felt women were weak and helpless. In my day...” Ichabod commented as he caught up to her again. “I know a great many women who are far greater intellectuals and formidable opponents in a fight than any one of the Founding Fathers... _Knew_. I must remember that... everyone I knew is... in the past.”

The Siren looked up at him, a hint of sadness on her face. A small smile curved one corner of her mouth and she tucked her hand into the bend of his elbow. “Were these women even better than your hero Thomas Jefferson?”

Ichabod snorted. “From what I have learned since my demise... Yes. They were far better.” He scowled for a moment. “I am still in disbelief that he would have an affair... and with a woman which, quite frankly, had no choice on the matter.”

“Well, you know what they say about your heroes...” the Siren said with a shrug. “You should never meet them.” They walked in companionable silence for a brief moment. “So, tell me a little bit about the fighty women you knew.”

“Where shall I ever begin...” Ichabod said with a gentle laugh. He looked down at her and she grinned up at him cutely. “Abigail Adams... She had quite the reputation of being quite ferocious when it came to causes she believed in. Her husband would often tell her to... _tone it down_. She would respond by doubling her efforts. She was far more intelligent than John and far more out spoken on issues of the day. She advocated for women to have property rights, independent of their husbands, and she thought any laws made concerning woman that had not the best interest of women in mind... could... in her words, actually, 'fuck all.' Not that you would find that in any of the history books.”

The Siren's mouth dropped open and she let out a sound that was a mix between a squeal and a laugh. “You're lying... did they even _use_ that word in your day?”

“She once told off a neighbour because he objected to her assisting a freed man getting into an evening school so he could learn to read and write,” Ichabod added. “So do not think her above using colourful language to get her point across.” He gave the Siren a smile. “She would have liked you. And I warrant the two of you could have marched right up to the continental congress and taken over the place.”

The Siren laughed softly as they made their way down an old stone stairwell. It was at the bottom of the stairs that the Siren paused and looked around more cautiously. “Generally speaking... we should have run into some kind of gross monster hell bent on keeping people out of this place.”

“Considering this is an institution of higher learning... that would prove rather dangerous. More so since, apparently, people do come down to study the murals.”

“Fair point,” the Siren conceded. She turned and caught the lapel of his coat with the hand that was not occupied with her flash light. “Hey... I have a good idea...”

Ichabod glanced at her, half afraid of what she might possibly suggest. He prayed it didn't involve explosives. 

Although they were only newly amorous partners, Ichabod knew what that mischievous gleam in her eyes meant the moment it appeared. “Siren... are you suggesting we... take congress whilst down here?”

“You're learning quickly,” she teased. Ichabod sighed with mock exasperation. “Oh come on... what would piss off a group of stuffy old men, hell bent on keeping the ladies out, than having their sacred space desecrated in such a manner?”

Shaking his head, Ichabod could not help of laugh softly. “You are as incorrigible as you are insatiable.”

The Siren batted her lashes demurely. “Me? Insatiable? If I recall correctly, my dear Captain... _I_ was not the one that initiated _congress_ this morning...”

“You did the second time,” Ichabod huffed. “As well as the third. Not to mention I _woke up_ to a rather devilish woman doing things with her mouth on certain parts of my person.”

One elegant eyebrow arched as the Siren gave a tiny indignant puff. “Hey, I woke up with _your person_ poking my ass, I was just being polite and keeping him company. And, I was taking a shower _alone_ thank you and you invited yourself into the shower.”

“Yes but you were naked so I could hardly be blamed for becoming enraptured by such tantalizing beauty,” Ichabod countered. “And I distinctly recall asking if you wished to have company and you being amicable to the suggestion.”

“I was in the _shower_ , so of course I was naked. Then you _seduced me_... you evil man,” the Siren shot back. “Evil, _evil_ man...” she clicked her tongue disapprovingly and shook her head. “You... seducer of innocent women...”

Ichabod caught her around the waist and pulled her flush against him. Her eyes widened as her hands rested on his arms. The Siren swallowed hard. “You are by no means an innocent. If I ever had any doubts, after this morning, I have all the confirmation I need... and you have not yet permitted me to properly seduce you, Siren,” he said, his voice low and heavy.

“Ye—“ her voice cracked. “Yeah and... I'm not about to _let you_. That's something you have to earn the right to do.”

“And what must I do to earn such a privilege?” Ichabod asked.

“I can't give you _all_ of my secrets,” the Siren said softly.

Brushing a stray curl away from his Siren's cheek, Ichabod stared down at her. “Therein we have a sizeable problem, my dear Siren,” he murmured. “You are most unfortunate that I wish to know every last one of your secrets.”

The Siren pulled back and wrinkled her nose. “Are you one of those guys that gets obsessed with women because they show you a little attention? I would ask if I have to worry about you stalking me once we get home but I know that won't be a problem because you won't leave the manor.”

“I thought once we returned home everything that occurred on this trip become irrelevant?” Ichabod asked. “So permit me to remain fascinated by the tiny wonder that is The Siren for a brief period.”

“Don't fall in love with me, Captain,” she replied sternly. “It won't end well for either of us.”

“Because you do not 'do the L word,'” Ichabod stated. 

“Exactly,” she said with a decisive nod. 

She turned away and continued down the corridor. Ichabod stared after her as she disappeared around a curve in the path. He closed his eyes and sighed. She couldn't see it was already far too late to warn him against such a thing and he was not going to enlighten her. If it took him a thousand years to convince her to invite him behind her closely guarded walls, he would wait patiently and do everything he could to show her he could be trusted.

“ _Captain_!” The Siren shrieked. A few seconds later he could see the glow of her frantically bouncing flash light beam. “You know how I said there should be some kind of gross monster waiting for us?” She slid around the curve then ran toward him at top speed. “Run you idiot!”

She rushed past him. Ichabod turned his light toward the way she had come from. A few seconds a a small creature hobbled around the curve. It looked like a Pomeranian-sized dragon that had run face-first into the wall a few times too many. It's head was comically big for its small body, the eyes were drastically mismatched and mis-sized for its head. It's over-bite showed off crooked teeth. When the creature breathed it sound very much like an asthmatic during pollen season. It stopped when Ichabod took a step toward it. 

Ichabod approached it slowly and it lopped its head to one side. It fidgeted then snorted and wheezed excitedly and hobbled toward him, its tongue hanging out. Ichabod blinked at it as he scampered around his ankles before leaning against his leg and snorting loudly as it nuzzled his leg. The creature gave a small, contented groan and flopped next to his feet to continue wallowing against him before rolling over to expose its belly.

“Oh dear,” Ichabod dead panned loudly. “I am paralysed with fear at the sight of this dreadful creature.”

The Siren's light returned. “What the hell is that?” she asked. 

Ichabod turned enough to look at her. “This is your _gross monster_.” He looked back down at the creature. The Siren walked over looking confused. “So tell me Siren, have all of the monsters you encountered been this fearsome and vicious?”

“I've learned that when I hear growling, just go ahead and haul ass,” she said with a haughty huff. “Besides, maybe it senses you're evil so it's being nice to... _ew_!” The Siren staggered back several paces when the creature rolled over to her and started licking her leg. “Get that thing away from me...”

The more the Siren tried to move away from the creature, the more it hobbled after her, snorting excitedly. The tiny woman squealed and started scurrying faster, making several rounds of the section of the corridor they were in. Ichabod had to struggle to keep from laughing. He couldn't hold it in any more when The Siren hopped onto his back and scooted up his frame until her legs were wrapped around his chest and her arms were around his neck.

“This isn't funny!” she squeaked. “Why is it chasing me?”

Ichabod looked down at the creature. It was perched on its hind legs, its tiny twisted front claws curled in front of it in a begging manner. The creature gave a small series of chirps and growls, punctuated with huffs and wheezes, and turned its head to blink its largest eye at the Siren.

“Perhaps it likes the way you smell,” Ichabod offered. The creature gave a soft whinge and whirled between his ankles before chirping up at the Siren again. “Where did it come from?”

“I don't know,” the Siren replied. “I heard it growling and, like a normal person, I ran away. Why didn't you run? You do realize monsters can be dangerous right?”

“You _do_ recall that I kept a high ranking demon as a pet until you vanquished it back to hell,” Ichabod reminded.

“The murals are right around the corner, by the way,” the Siren said after a moment of silence. “And don't you _dare_ hint that I should walk. I am staying right here until we leave. That thing is weird and creepy and I don't want it near me.”

“But it seems to like you, oddly enough,” Ichabod said.

“Just go around the damn corner,” the Siren grumbled.

Ichabod shrugged and tucked his hands around her knees to keep her in place as he continued down the corridor and rounded the curve. As the Siren had said, the murals were painted on the stony walls of the pathway until it dead ended with a painting of a dark skinned woman with black wavy hair adorned in a bright green cloak and a gold crown, baring a sword and a chalice. Near the woman's feet was a faded image that he couldn't quite make out what it was meant to be or what it had been.

The creature hobbled toward the mural then crouched low before leaping at the wall. Much to the surprise of both Ichabod and the Siren, the creature melded into the mural, filling the faded space with its image at the woman's feet. Its mismatched eyes blinked at them, first the smaller one then the larger one.

The Siren slid off of Ichabod's back and walked over, mouth open in amazement. “What in the...” She knelt down and lightly touched the image. The creature peeled away from the wall and with a soft _pop_ regained its physical form. The Siren shrieked and flailed before falling on her backside. The creature seemed to take it as an invitation to pounce onto her chest and lick her face enthusiastically.

“Help! Get it off me, get it off of me!” 

Ichabod would have helped but he was too busy laughing. When the Siren tried to push it away, it merely started giving her arms slobbery laps and rolled around a top her until she gave up with a sigh and stared at the ceiling. The creature huddled up to her side and let out a wheezing sigh before starting to snore.

“I'm going to need another shower when we get back to the hotel,” she said flatly. She sat up and scowled at him. The creature whimpered softly when she moved but simply curled around her the best it could. “It's not funny...” She looked down at the creature, pursed her lips, then softly patted its oversized head. “This thing looks like someone mixed a bobble head with a lizard then smacked it with an ugly stick.”

Moving toward the mural of the woman, Ichabod commented, “But it certainly seems fond of you, regardless of your low opinion of it.” He lightly touched the inscriptions. “The text appears to be a dialect of Gaelic...”

“Well, do your magic and translate,” the Siren said, waving her hand toward it. Ichabod stared down at her. “What?”

“I... do not know enough Gaelic to even fathom being able to translate this,” he admitted, feeling his face burn. The Siren's eyebrows arched in surprise. It was his turn to ask, “Is something amiss?”

“I don't know you just struck me as a know-it-all,” the Siren replied. “So it's a bit weird hearing you say you don't know something.”

“My father insisted Gaelic was the language of heathens and did his best to keep me from learning it,” Ichabod said primly. His fingers went to two of the words near where the little creature had been and he squinted. “Myrddin Emrys...”

The creature's head perked up and it panted excitedly, drool going all over the Siren's lap and making her groan in annoyance. Ichabod turned and had to repress a smile at seeing the creature perched on her lap, its nub tail wagging happily. “He seems to react positively to the name...”

“Don't get me wrong, I'm pretty sure I could call this thing Knucklehead and it would get excited,” the Siren commented. She looked down at it and make a kissing sound. “Would you react to being called Knucklehead...” She lightly rubbed two little knots on its head. “'Cause you got a big ol' knucklehead...”

Just as the Siren had predicted. The creature yelped happily and started licking her face excitedly. The Siren gave a loud, “Jesus Christ...” and tried to temper the creature back into her lap. “Urgh...”

“Merlin... Myrddin Em--” Ichabod found himself with his back on the ground, the creature attacking his face with slobbery laps. He could hear the Siren laughing heartily.

“Not so funny _now_ is it?” she barked. Once Ichabod had calmed the creature back down, the Siren looked up at the mural. “So, basically, someone named this little ball of energy 'Merlin'?”

“Seemingly so,” Ichabod commented. The Siren squealed when 'Merlin' leapt back in her lap and started licking her face. This time, however, she just squinched her face and forced the wiggling creature to the ground next to her. “Perhaps... we could take photographs of the text and I could make comparisons to discover which dialect of Gaelic it is... and find someone to translate?”

“That is an excellent idea,” the Siren said. “Or maybe the fellas in charge of this place know what it says.”

“That is an even better idea, my dear Siren...” Ichabod replied. 

The woman's eyes widened when the creature suddenly disappeared. She squealed 'no, no, no!' while swatting at her skirt. “The little shit turned himself into an image on my skirt! What the hell? How did he do that?” She swiped at her skirt again. “Bad dragon! Bad! Get off my skirt! Captain, learn how to read that shit right now so I can get him off of my skirt!”

Siren jumped up onto her feet and continued to swat at the small image of the creature on her otherwise tidy, completely non-whimsical, black skirt. “How do I get him off of my skirt?” she asked. “I can't go around with _this_ on my skirt. And I am not paying the pet fee at that hotel.”

“First you would have to ask, if Merlin remains upon your skirt, would the hotel ever be wiser to our having a pet,” Ichabod said, meandering over to look at one of the other murals. He took out his phone and carefully snapped photographs of them and then closer pictures of the words which undoubtedly told some kind of tale. He tilted his head when a few words—or rather names—stood out. “Morrigan le Fae...” he said quietly. 

He frowned and scrolled through the pictures he had taken. It depicted a tale of the woman at the end of the corridor. The Siren walked over to look at the mural herself. “You mean, Morgan le Fae? Like... Arthur, King of the Britons, Lancelot, and Guinevere and all those folks?”

Ichabod shrugged lightly. “There is much debate on what the name of the Enchantress le Fae's given name was,” he said non-committally. “But yes...” The Siren reached up and lightly touched the image of the green-robed woman. Her hand immediately jerked back and she stepped away, cradling her hand to her chest as though it had been burned. “Are you all right?”

He tucked his flashlight under his arm and took her tiny hand in both of his and tentatively coaxed her fingers into uncurling. There were no noticeable injuries. The Siren shook her head. “No... no... nothing like that,” she muttered. She looked up at him with big doe eyes and he could feel the very essence of his being wanting to disappear into those eyes for all eternity. “I saw... things when I touched it.”

Ichabod waited for further explanation but the Siren looked away and gently pulled her hand from his. She shook her head and moved to explore more of the mural, keeping her hands clasped behind her back. That is, until she reached the one at the end of the corridor once again. When she placed her hand upon the stone, she promptly fell face first through the wall with a small shriek.

  
#  


Abbie quickly resolved to not touching walls in magical places after the whole ordeal in Oxford. At all. Period. She didn't even want to touch normal walls. Well... most of the time. She was pretty sure it was safe to have her hands on hotel room walls when the Captain was taking her from behind. During those moments she pretty much didn't care about anything except how hard she had just came.

It was definitely safe to touch the Captain.

Everything else... nope. After Oxford—which no, they hadn't known anything about the translation of the words... in fact they were perplexed by the presence of the text and tried to accuse Abbie of vandalizing the corridors and even accused her of defacing the mural because the ugly dragon in picture at the end of the corridor was gone.

(Oddly enough the creature hadn't been on Abbie's skirt when they left the corridors. They located it later when they stopped for coffee. Ichabod reached into his coat pocket to get their “travel expense” card and it was covered with drool. Abbie had then looked into the pocket and seen the eyes of the creature blinking at her. How and when 'Merlin' had hopped into The Captain's coat pocket was a mystery.)

And then after a brief respite in Scotland, Abbie had fallen victim to another ghost wall while visiting Ich—The Captain's old family home which had survived well enough for them to stay there. They had even let their—her—little bobble-head dragon scamper freely. It was funny watching him scamper around behind her like an eager little puppy, hobbling along because it had to alternate between which front foot it placed its weight on.

After Scotland, they had gone to Paris for a 'personal' mission for The Captain... tracking down information on what all had happened to his first love, Belle. Which they discovered that Belle's eldest child had been born two years before she had met the man she would marry. And when the Captain dug in further... Abbie had thrown her hands into the air with a decisive 'Oh Hell no' when he found a stack of letters from his former love.

“It is reasonable to understand that, perhaps, my _actual_ eldest child turned out as a decent human being,” Ichabod commented. “His mother was one of the kindest people I knew.”

“Nope... Nope. Not doing it,” Abbie repeated for about the hundredth time. “I don't care _who_ they are or where they are living. _You_ are going to hunt them down and convince them to not give me Hell. I am _not_ getting drawn into your god damn family drama _again_.”

_Just_ when she had started thinking it might be safe to just let herself be relaxed around the Captain, it turned out he had fathered a child out of wedlock with Belle. Although, unlike the woman he had married, Belle had actually attempted to let him know as soon as she had found out. But it still made the vein in her temples throb at the thought of possibly having to either deal with yet another bitter Crane-child.

Abbie slept alone that night. Well, sort of. 

The little creature had decided to curl up with her and nosed at her chin until she curled up around him. She had laid in bed, gently stroking his scaly head. “I don't think 'Merlin' suits you, you know...” she said quietly. “But I don't want to give you a name that makes fun of you because I will fight anyone else that calls you Bobblehead.” The creature gave a soft, purr-like growl and snuggled closer to her. “You remind me of that asshole in the other room that has a habit of making babies no one tells him about until its too damn late... the way you just sort of bounce along after me... slobbering.” She put a hand on his snout when he tried to nuzzle her face. “Getting all up in my face...”

The little creature had also sort of grown on her like a highly invasive fungus, just like the Captain had. And, as much as the creature pissed her off, she just couldn't find it in her heart to stay mad at his stupid little face. Although, the Captain was definitely much cuter.

“I guess this time around your name will be Ichabod,” Abbie said quietly. “But I guess that would be a bit obvious... My sister might not like that too much. And even though it's none of her dam business I don't want to deal with her crap.” She pursed her lips as she stared at the creature in the face. She smirked as the name _Boo_ popped in her head. “I'll call your little floppy ass Boo. And no one will be the wiser. What do you think of that? Your name is now Boo.”

The creature chirped contentedly and gave her chin a small lick while it wagged its nubbed tail.

She stared at the ceiling afterwards and sighed. Her head was already full of the fights she had gone through with Henry—Jeremy, whatever the hell his name was. Abbie wasn't feeling up to having to put down another Crane-brat. But she would if she had to. Also there, just at the back of her mind were other fights.

Fights with children just like Henry. Grown men who cried about how their daddy didn't love them. Men from other lifetimes who made it their ambition to destroy her _just_ because they felt their father was more duty bound to _her_ than them.

Abbie scoffed at the thought. No... that's not how it had been. Yes it seemed that way when they had a demon and a red-headed witch saying that's what was going on. But the reality of it was, he always chose them over her. _Always_.

It seemed when he had taken the knife and plunged into into Katrina's gut months ago, he had finally chosen her and their mission. _Seemed_. Now she had to contend with someone else. Again. 

She closed her eyes and let the memories of what she had seen when she touched the walls in Oxford take over. _She was running through the same corridor, except it was longer. Abbie wasn't sure how she knew that information, but she did. She rounded a corner and could see light pouring in through the entry of the corridors. She wasn't running because she was afraid. She was running because she was excited. Her heart was full of joy and a sense of freedom._

_Abbie emerged onto flat land from a gap hidden by three trees which had twisted together to form one massive creation. She turned and placed her hand upon the tree. “Thank you for delivering me safely to the Overlands.” Her fingers tingled as the tree spirits bade her welcome._

_Slowly, she walked around the twisted tree. “Now is the Sun come up from the South” she softly sang. “With Oak and Ash and Thorn...” She stopped with a yelped when she reached the other side of the tree and young man was standing there, staring toward her with wonder. She wasn't able to hide behind the gnarly limbs quick enough to avoid his attention._

_As Abbie observed him she realized that, while he looked a lot younger than she was used to, he would one day favour the man she knew as the Captain._

_“Please wait,” he called softly, taking a step in her direction. His voice sounded weird to her ears, as though she had never heard the soft accent before. Abbie peered around the tree at him and narrowed her eyes. He tilted his head curiously. “I've heard those who are of the ancient bloodlines were small brown people... You're too small to be from the Moors. Are you one of the faery folk?”_

_She nodded mutely and his eyes lit up. He took a step closer then retracted it when she scurried further into hiding behind the tree. Abbie watched him return his attention to the tree. “Don't,” she said sternly when he reached out to touch it. “It's rude to touch a tree you don't know.”_

_His fingers wriggled but he pulled it away and clasped his hands behind his back. “Forgive me, I am unaccustomed to the traditions of a fae,” he said softly. “How does one introduce themselves to such a lovely tree?”_

_“Much the same as you introduce yourself to a person,” Abbie replied with a matter-of-fact tone._

_He turned his attention toward her. “Perhaps I could make sure my introduction meets local tradition by first introducing myself to you, little faery.” He bowed elegantly. “I am Prince Arthur. It is a pleasure to meet you, My Lady.”_

_Abbie stepped from behind the tree, smoothing down the folds of her cloak and gown. She gave him a curtsey she had seen many of these strange new comers make toward others when making introductions. “I am Morrigan.” And because it was tradition with her coven, she stepped close and placed a light kiss upon his cheek. “Merry met, Prince Arthur.”_

_When she pulled back, his face was tinged pink. He hesitated for a moment before placing a reciprocal kiss on her cheek. “Merry met, Morrigan of the Fae.”_

Abbie opened her eyes and stared up at the ceiling. They had both been young when they met in that life. If she was judging correctly, they hadn't even been teenagers. If she thought long enough she knew everything that had happened, from her own perspective. She could remember being in love. She could remember heart break. _“My father refuses to permit our marriage,” he said. They were both older, on the verge of adulthood. She could tell by the look on his face that there was more. “And he has already arranged what he feels would be a more suitable union.”_

She could remember anger. _She curled her fingers into her palms as she watched the parade of celebration between Arthur and the pale skinned beauty with bright red hair she knew to be called Guinevere. Arthur looked disheartened but forced a smile. She knew what paths lay before them all. And quite frankly, they deserved it. She turned and walked away, knowing the fight she had to undertake would be on her own or on her own terms. If they thought their simple prayers could will away the monsters that would come, they were greatly mistaken._

She could remember surprise. _“King Arthur wishes to have your wisdom and counsel so as to form a peaceful union between the empire and the old ways,” the courier had said. “I am to return with your response, your Majesty.”_

Abbie could even remember the day she stepped into his fortress, holding her head high as she strode before the throne. _The crowds of people had parted and whispered amongst themselves at the small brown woman in such finery and wearing a glimmering gold circlet upon her brow. “The Fae-folk bow to a Queen, of all things.” “What would a woman know of ruling a kingdom?” “Who would be intimidated by such a tiny woman?” they tittered._

_Arthur stood and stepped down from the raised platform in which he was seated and bowed reverently before her, effectively silencing the bemused mutters of the naysayers. “It is truly an honour to have the Queen of the Ancient Ones amongst us,” he said softly._

_“Do you think me some kind of fool, Arthur?” Abbie stared hard at him. The people who had just been questioning how she could be intimidating took paces back, as they were caught unaware by the amount of raw power emanating from her tiny stature. Some wondered how she dared to call their king by name._

_“You followed the path lain out to you by men, rather than the one the gods asked of you,” she stated incredulously. “Your kingdom would not be in such ruin if your father had been the one to reach out and ask for peace. So do not dare tell me it is an honour to have me standing here.” She looked around as everyone softly muttered 'God rest his soul.' “_ No _, may none of the gods permit that monster rest,” she snarled, turning this way and that to address the court._

_Arthur took a knee and raised his head to look up at her. “I can no more undo what my father has done to your people than I can change my own past, regrettable, decisions,” he said quietly. Abbie looked up at the red-head still seated in her throne, glaring at Arthur with disgust. “But I do know your people are wise and that their Queen is always the wisest. I need the wisest minds I can find to try and help make peace. So, no, I do not think you a fool.”_

_She stood there staring at him in silence for a long moment. Trepidation was in his eyes as whispers amongst his people started to catch his attention. She could hear them asking each other why_ their _king was grovelling at_ her _feet. They thought she should be the one grovelling at his for trying to put an end to the war between the two factions._

_“Your father fooled us once with a false attempt at peace. And he betrayed us by destroying our sacred groves. His so-called honourable men burned our temples to the ground. They forced themselves upon our women!” Abbie stated firmly, much to the horror of the delicate ladies in waiting. “And you expect me to be honoured by your invitation to serve upon your counsel?”_

_Finally he stood and offered her his hand. “If I may take private counsel with you, Your Highness.”_

_She tilted her chin upward. “Any discussion which pertains to your people should be spoken in their presence.”_

_“The things I wish to discuss do not pertain to my people,” he said gently._

_Suddenly she saw him as the young boy curious about the people who had once ruled the lands the Romans had taken over. She took his hand and he led her to a private chamber._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories from other lives bubble to surface.

Ichabod walked with his head held high between the Horseman and Moloch. He had been ready and prepared to meet his fate when he returned to Sleepy Hollow. Alone. The Siren returned home several weeks prior to him, leaving him alone at a hotel in Buenos Aires, sneaking out like a wraith whilst he slept. She had left only a letter on his bedside that said “Sorry.”

She had even taken “Boo” with her.

She had warned him, had she not? That she would only hurt him. And she had not lied. Even now he wondered what part had hurt more. Her leaving or that, whilst they had been making love the night before, he had thought for certain she had been on the verge of confessing her love to him. Instead she left him without any trace that she had ever been there.

She had even deleted any photos he had taken of her with his phone. There had been nothing except the memories of her glittering eyes as she laughed, scorched into his brain. It would that he would think of when the Horseman and the demon executed him in the dark recesses of woodlands between Sleepy Hollow and Elmsford.

Would she even know he was dead? Would she even care? Would _anyone_ notice?

He liked to think Miss Latisha and Carol would notice, perhaps even Master Joseph Corbin. Maybe Miss Jenny would surprise him and take notice. Yet the one person he wanted his demise to benefit or go noticed by was the one person that held uncertainty.

They reached a clearing in the forest and the Horseman placed a hand upon Ichabod's shoulder and forced him to kneeling on the ground. Ichabod had regrets a plenty. One was not _saying_ the words that would have let the Siren know just how deeply he cared for her. The other was that he had not yet finished his research on the child he had with Belle.

All he had been able to find was that Belle and her children had moved to the Americas after the war, to escape the revolution in France. She had retained notoriety in the book-binding circles and taught her eldest son—his son—the family trade. Grandchildren. His son had lived to see grandchildren. But that was the extent of his knowledge.

Perhaps he was fortunate enough that his still had a descendant alive which could take upon the mantel of being a Witness. Perhaps they would even be able to _assist_ the Siren in putting a stop to the Apocalypse.

Maybe they would be smarter, more clever than he... perhaps it would be someone the Siren would not have trepidation in loving.

Everything that happened next had happened so quickly, Ichabod wasn't sure if he should thank the mysterious woman for trapping both the Horseman and Moloch in her magical box or run away before she could do the same to him.

He chose the option of running whilst she admired her box. After all, anyone who was capable of trapping the embodiment of Death and a demon of Moloch's renown, was someone the Siren would wish to know about. And if there was any resemblance between himself and the cartooned roadrunner in that moment, there was no one who was there to witness it. Nor was there anyone to hear the string of “nope”s he proclaimed the entire way to the manor.

  
#  


Abbie eyed the Captain across the table, her arms folded over his chest. They were in the old police Archives. She knew, from Joe, that the place had gone up for sale a few months ago, while they were still travelling, and the Captain had put in to have it saved. The only difference she could see in it was that all the drape sheets that had once protected everything had been removed.

“I know what I saw,” the Captain said.

“I'm not saying you don't,” Abbie stated. “And you're _sure_ she's not one of your evil kids? Because, I've already told you, you're dealing with those assholes yourself from now on.”

The Captain huffed indignantly. “I shall have you know, I have done my research. The son I had with Belle was a model citizen. He lived a normal human life. I have only reached the early 1900s in my research, and I hate to disappoint you, but my descendants have been a long line of librarians and book binders. And one accountant.”

Abbie pointed at him sternly. “See... I knew there was an evil one in there somewhere.” She felt her face warm as she tried to hide a smile that threatened to appear. The shy smile she had become accustomed to with the Captain appeared on his face. If it made her heart feel a little lighter, she wasn't going to admit it. “Okay, so, lady with a box that can trap demons. How do you know she's a threat?”

“There are some things which one can tell just by looking at someone,” the Captain said, his eyes lingering on her. “And this woman did not seem to bode well for us.”

Abbie arched an eyebrow. “Us?” She shook her head and laughed. “Where are you getting this 'us' thing?”

The Captain blinked at her. “You and I are the Witnesses foretold in the Book of Revelation. And... I have come to believe that, in this war, we are meant to fight _together_.”

Abbie swallowed lightly. There had been plenty of times in the past few years she had wished to hear something like that from the Captain. But, with the way he was looking at her—and considering the last time she saw him, he was asleep and she was literally leaving him alone in a strange place where English was not the native language—she couldn't help but think he had his own reasons behind his change of heart.

She looked around cautiously. “Okay. But, just so you understand, just because we're going to be working together on this... doesn't mean anything changes.” She gave him a pointed glare.

He nodded lightly. “What happens in Las Vegas, Nevada, is to remain there.”

Abbie closed her eyes. “That's... not... Never mind. I get your sentiment and yes. Exactly. Just so we have that understanding.”

“That is clearly understood,” he said quietly. “Birds flying into the window pane, clear.”

Abbie nodded. “Good.” 

The Captain nodded in agreement.

Jenny, of course, hadn't been too keen on the “team up.” But that was to be expected, Abbie supposed. “You know Tish and Carol are going to expect you to come to Sunday dinner's now, right?” Jenny pointed out. “And both of them would recognize you in a heart beat without your mask. And you really think they wouldn't tell him who you really are?”

Abbie shook her head. “That's not going to be an issue because I'm not going to be attending Sunday dinners. That's just a bit too... personal for my tastes.”

“Good,” Jenny said with a nod. “I mean it's bad enough Melody keeps asking him if he is going to marry you some day. We don't need you coming up in there giving anyone false ideas.”

“Wh-Wha... What? Why... Why would a five year old be asking if I am going to marry the Captain?” Abbie asked.

Jenny shrugged. “I have no idea. And she's six now, by the way. Apparently Melody adores you and she also adores the Captain, so maybe she thinks the two people she adores the most should be married.”

Abbie shook her head. “Nah uh. No. Find out why she thinks we should be married and then makes sure she knows _that_ is not going to happen.”

“O...kay,” Jenny said carefully. “It's... not the end of the world that a kid thinks things like that Abbie. But... sure. Okay. I'll find out and make sure she knows it's not going to happen.”

  
#  


It was taking every ounce of Ichabod's patience to deal with the six year old hanging on his neck, trying to drag him to the ground. “Please,” the little girl begged. “Please? Pretty please? I'll be your bestest friend in the world. _Please_.”

Latisha was laughing on the other side of the table, Carol was shaking her head and grinning as she prepared lunch. “See, I told you not to tell her you and the Siren were friends now,” Latisha said lightly.

“We're not... We're... We're not fr... Please, Miss Melody, stop,” Ichabod said with much more patience than he was feeling at that moment. “The Siren and I are not friends... per se.”

“But you're going to be working together,” Melody pouted, letting go of his neck. “You're helping her fight the bad guys. Which means you're going to be friends. And Mommy says you love her.”

Ichabod held up a finger to silence the child. He sighed heavily. “All right... _should_ the occasion ever arise—which I adamantly believe it shall not—I will ask the Siren to consider you for the role of _flower girl_ in the wedding.” He huffed again. What, precisely was a flower girl anyway? Probably another 'wedding industry' concoction. “In my day, weddings were not such elaborate occasions. We didn't have...”

“When can I meet the Siren?” Melody interrupted. She wrapped her tiny arms around his and commenced tugging once again. “Will I get to meet her soon? Please tell me I can meet the Siren.”

“Melody, I think that's enough,” Latisha chuckled.

“But...” the child pouted.

Latisha arched a brow and looked at the child pointedly. Melody poked out her bottom lip and retreated to her previously vacated seat. She folded her arms atop the table and rested her chin on her arms with a deflated sigh. He was quite used to Melody's fixation with his... Siren. She liked that the Siren was tough and fought “the bad guys” despite being so diminutive in stature. She also preened about the fact the Siren “looked like her.”

Ichabod stared at the child for a moment. “I shall see if the Siren would be willing to make acquaintances with you.”

Melody bolted upright in her seat and gave an enthusiastic fist pump of joy. She then bound off to help her other mother with lunch.

“So how goes the plotting of the family tree?” Latisha asked curiously.

A feeling of excitement filled his veins and he opened the massive book he had been keeping all of the details in. “It has been quite eye opening,” he said with enthusiasm. He pointed to a name. “One my great-great-great grand daughters was along side Reverend King when he marched in Washington, DC,” he said with pride. 

“Look at you.” Latisha's eyes glimmered as she pulled the book over to herself. “You're so proud of your babies.” She looked down at the name and the photograph of the smiling woman he had procured to go with the name. For a moment she looked taken aback. “Ichabod,” she said softly. “You... you're sure this is one of your descendants?”

Ichabod nodded firmly. “Sarah Belle Hodges-Portie. According to the records, she still lives, albeit in a retirement home. She is _here_ in Sleepy Hollow. I wished to visit her and perhaps see if there is anything I could do to assure of her health and well-being... Perhaps hear her tell of her childhood and the things she saw and did during her long life...” he realized Latisha was still staring at the picture. “Is... something amiss?”

Latisha shook her head to clear it then gave him an affectionate smile. “Sarah Belle Hodges is my grandmother on my daddy's side of the family,” she replied. 

Across the kitchen they heard Melody gasp. When they looked over the girl's eyes were wide as saucers. “Doesn't this mean I'll be related to the Siren when you two get married?”

“Melody,” Carol hissed. “Quit being so nosy.”

Latisha reached over and patted Ichabod's hand. “I go and visit her every Sunday after we leave here from lunch. You can come along next time, if you want. But I'm going to warn you, she is a spit fire. My brother used to say God accidentally gave her piss and vinegar in her veins instead of blood.”

“You... you have a brother?” Ichabod asked. “As in, you are blood related or... in the 'from another mother' variety?”

Latisha laughed lightly. “Well... a bit of both actually. He was my half brother. Same daddy, different mamas. Come to think of it, I've always been thinking you two seemed a lot alike. Isaiah loveD his books... I also have an older sister, Jacqueline Isabelle Jackson. But Isaiah died years ago. His son is still here in Sleepy Hollow. He took over the family business when Isaiah passed.” She tilted her head and grinned. “You are my great, great, great, great, great... there's probably a few more in there... grand father. No wonder I liked you right away.”

The days that followed found Ichabod having his house just short of being invaded by a multitude of family—direct descendants, cousins, and extended family. He had even arranged to have Miss Sarah Belle cared for at the manor—which it puzzled him how such a spry and able bodied woman, capable of chasing Carol out of the kitchen with a 'flip flop' had survived in such a droll place as the retirement home. He soon discovered it was because she had a habit of forgetting critical things such as taking her medications and that she was no longer in her early fifties.

It wasn't long before Miss Sarah Belle had established herself as the family matron and was planning holiday festivities to make sure the family got together. Ichabod did briefly wonder if he was permitted to have anything to say about it, considering it _was_ his home. 

As it turned out, he had absolutely zero say in any of the on goings of the manor once 'Granny' took over. And she made absolutely certain he knew this at any opportunity. Even when Moloch had attempted to return to the manor, Granny had put up a multitude of wards and protection spells on the manor and cornered Moloch in the shed. He was still stuck there. The older children enjoyed running to the door and throwing things at him.

However, Ichabod had not yet been able to meet the young gentleman which would have to take up the mantle of Witness should anything happen to him. As it was, after two weeks had passed and he'd had two close calls whilst fighting at the Siren's side, Ichabod found himself standing outside of a small shop that advertised book refurbishment—they offered student discounts and were currently seeking an apprentice—clutching a tome from the Archives that was in dire need of the services offered.

The 'normal' hustle and bustle of Sleepy Hollow had him on edge but he needed to put his mind to rest. He needed to know, should anything happen to him, the Siren would have a partner worthy of her. Taking a deep breath, Ichabod pushed open the shop door, causing a small bell to herald his entry.

“I'll be right there,” a gentle but commanding voice called from a room behind the counter.

All around Ichabod were shelves upon shelves of books. Some in bindings of leather, others in fabric, few in paper. All of them looked new but the air in the shop smelled of old pages that had found new covers to call home by loving hands. The gentleman that stepped out from the back. He was around the same age as Ichabod, if one did not take centuries of sleeping underground into account. 

He was tall and held himself like a prince. If one could have drawn a picture of what a child between Ichabod and his long departed beloved Belle would have looked like, the young man before him would have played the part admirably. If Ichabod looked close enough, he could see the full eyelashes of his Belle and the elegant arch of her mouth when the young man smiled. He wondered if _this_ was what his son had looked like.

Tall, handsome with dark hazel eyes and close shorn hair. He was dressed in modest trousers and a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and protecting his clothing was a sturdy leather smock. “Good afternoon,” Ichabod said quietly. “Are you the son of Master Isaiah Jackson?”

“I am,” the young man replied. His voice was soft and pleasant. He reached a hand across the counter. “Ishmel Jackson at your services.”

Ichabod reached out and shook his hand. “I am... Captain Ichabod Crane.” When he released Ishmael hand he presented him with the book. “I am in the process of restoring the Archives for the Hudson Valley Historical Society. I was told by Miss Latisha Jackson that you would be the ideal person to seek out for the restoration of any books that I found in need of it.”

Ishmael laughed lightly. “I could use the business, so I'll make sure to thank my auntie for sending you my way, Captain Crane.” He nodded. “Not many people can appreciate the old fashioned techniques of rebinding books... It can be fairly expensive.”

Ichabod shook his head. “Price is not of import,” he said quietly. “So long as--”

“One does their job well,” Ishmael finished with a broad grin. “Rest assure, Captain Crane, I will treat this book with the dignity and respect she deserves.” He swept a hand toward the room he had come from. “Would you care to see my process so you can see for yourself?”

Over the next hour, the young man walked Ichabod through his process. _“Many places use machines to thread the pages or glue them, which I find to be an atrocity. I do all my threading by hand.”_ Everything was done with utmost care and with traditional techniques. There was very little difference between the way Ishmael did it and the way Ichabod remembered Belle as doing it.

When they reached the counter again, Ichabod gave the young man a polite bow. “I feel I am leaving this tome in the best hands available,” Ichabod said. “Feel free to call or bring it to the Archives when it is done.”

“The old Police Archives?” Ishmael asked. When Ichabod nodded, he grinned excitedly. “I will gladly bring it to you when it's done, sir. It should take me about two weeks.”

“I look forward to seeing you again, Master Jackson.”

Once Ichabod left the tiny shop, he debated to the idea of throwing himself off a cliff so the Siren could have his descendant as her partner.

  
#  


Of all the things Abbie never would have expected when she walked into the Archives was to come face-to-face with a skinny streak of sexiness like Ishmael Jackson. Even Jenny's jaw had dropped at the sight of the handsome book binder that started dropping by the Archives to take a look at various books The Captain was thinking about getting restored.

Sure the Captain had mentioned him a few times but never had Abbie imagined someone relatively close to her own age and _good-looking_.

He had been in the middle of helping the Captain identify books which would require full refurbishment and which ones could get away with just minor binding repairs when her and Jenny walked into the Archives. Abbie looked the young man over the same time he looked her over and she could feel her face warming when he arched a brow that indicated he liked what he was looking at. “Captain, Jenny was able to track down the...” her eyes flickered to the book-binder then back to the Captain. “Item we were concerned about.”

The Captain glanced toward the young man, seemed to remember he was standing there, then puffed his chest up with pride. “Forgive my manners...” the Captain said. “Miss Siren, Miss Jenny this is my many times great grand son Ishmael Jackson. He is fully aware of the current ongoings. Ishmael, this is my fellow Witness, known only as the Siren... and Miss Jenny, she is betrothed to young Master Corbin and has proven herself to be quite resourceful when dealing with the so-called black market types.”

Abbie could feel her face getting even hotter when Ishmael made his way over to both her and Jenny, took their hands in turn and politely bowed over them. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintances, ladies.” Abbie wasn't sure if his eyes lingering a bit longer on hers was intentional or not, but she did know that she didn't mind it in the least.

Someone who did notice and seemed to mind was The Captain. “Master Jackson had simply stopped by to deliver a completed project and to pick up a few other things,” the Captain boasted. 

Ishmael smiled shyly and dropped his eyes to his feet before returning to retrieve three books from the Captain. Once he departed, Jenny was the first to speak up. “ _That_ is... that was one of yours?” Jenny asked, her voice squeaking. “No offence or anything British, but he seemed just a little too hot to have come from anywhere in your gene pool.”

The Captain gave a small, offended huff. “I fail to see what the local temperature has to do with the obvious handsomeness of my descendant.”

Abbie tried to hold back a laugh but it bubbled out anyway. “What Jennifer was trying to ask was, 'How did something so handsome come from your gene pool'?

“If that's the new face of evil, sign me the hell up,” Jenny added with a grin.

“Jenny, you already have Joe,” Abbie reminded. “So if anyone is going to be doing anything to the new face of evil it's going to be _me_.”

The Captain did that thing where he sucked in a breath and tried to hide a scowl while also trying to act like he was not annoyed. He rearranged a couple stacks of books, unrolled a map, then rolled it back up again. “You made mention of finding the item we are seeking,” he said tensely.

Once they had gone over the plan and Jenny left, Abbie tilted her head to peer at the Captain. “You're acting weird. Weird even for you,” Abbie commented, folding her arms over her chest. “Is something wrong?”

He did not look toward her, just moved stacks of books from one end of the table to the other to clear space. He remained silent for a moment but shook his head. He glanced in her direction then sighed. “The past few weeks have brought me to pondering my own mortality and my role in this modern era,” he said quietly. 

Abbie felt her heart fall into the pit of her belly. She had heard him use the same tone a few times while they had been travelling. Usually when he was talking about some event in his past that dredged up sad memories.

He placed his hands on the table and looked across at her. “As you were made aware, your mantel as Witness is passed down to the eldest daughter in your bloodlines. Mine is passed down through the eldest son. Should anything befall me during these tribulations, it would be Ishmael that would next be called to carry on as your fellow Witness.”

Abbie rolled the information around in her head for a minute. Ishmael as her partner? She could get behind that without any issues. He seemed like a sweet and polite guy from the initial introduction. “Okay?” she said with uncertainty. “I can think of worse things than being biblically ordained to fight evil with him.” It wasn't until a hurt expression crossed the Captain's face that she realized how mean that sounded directed toward him. “Sorry... I didn't mean... You're not that bad. Okay? I've actually kind of liked having your help. Even if you do have a bad habit of trying to get yourself killed.”

Before he could continue, Abbie waved her hand and shook her head. “I get it, you're getting depressed because you feel like you have no real purpose in this day and age. You feel like you're just this weirdo outsider that just causes everyone problems.” She walked over to him and took the lapels of his coat in her hands. “We'll get through this. Both of us. Seven years of tribulation. Two witnesses... not two witnesses and a backup plan. Not two witnesses and random family members out of nowhere to take their place. Just two witnesses. Us. You and Me. The Witnesses. Nobody else.”

She wasn't sure what she expected next, but it hadn't been for him to gather her in his arms and kiss her soundly. But she wasn't going to argue. It was nice. It was good. It made her feel weak and thankful he spared her the indignity of knees giving out by lifting her onto the table.

It got interrupted.

By Joe.

Walking in through the door that came in from the munition tunnels.

Abbie wasn't sure who was more horrified in that moment. She just knew the instant she heard Joe's stunned “Oh my God, I fucking knew it” they were done for. Word was going to get back to Jenny. Jenny was going to be pissed and murder the Captain. And then the Captain would be dead.

She shoved the Captain away and slipped off of the table. “This is _not_ what it looks like, Joe...”

He nodded and folded his arms over his chest. “Okay so... he forced you to kiss him? Because that's the only thing that is the complete opposite of what I thought was happening.” He shook his head. “Look... I'm not your babysitters, you're both adults. But still... what the hell? I thought you hated him, Abbie.”

Silence fell heavily in the room as a look of 'oh shit' crossed Joe's face. The look that passed between Abbie and her sister's boyfriend was one of panic. It was the Captain which sighed with irritation, “So she is at least consistent in giving everyone the same false name.”

Abbie sighed with relief. “Well it wouldn't do to go giving everyone a different name would it?” She paused for a moment. “I should go.” Her eyes met Joe's and she knew he wouldn't be telling Jenny for the same reason she didn't want Jenny to know.

Before either of the guys could say anything else, Abbie was around the corner, hiding in the Starbucks, sipping a salted caramel frappaccino in the corner. While she was there a lone figure approached her and politely asked, “Do you mind if I join you, Miss Siren?”

She looked up to see Ishmael's gently smiling face. She sat up in her seat and nodded. “Sure. I'd like that.”

  
#  


The cavern was trembling as she gathered the broken pieces of the shard in her hands to contain the Eye of Providence. He made it there just in time to see her hurrying for the opened portal in the tree. She stopped at the top most step and looked back at him.

“Take care of Jenny,” was all she said before continuing onward.

A moment of panic of losing his Siren spurred Ichabod into action. He could not, would not, lose her again. Not when so many life times had been wasted, trying to get back to her. For only the briefest of moments he felt the warmth of her tiny form in his arms as they wrapped around her waist. 

For a moment, her fear of dying was pushed aside by the solitary thought of— _Finally. He had finally chosen her_.

  
#  


_Situated east of the Euphrates River, in the region of Sumer—nearly 3000 years before Christ, when people still worshipped the ancient gods as things of fact rather than myth—there was a temple in a city called Uruk. In this temple it was said the Great Mother of Mankind, Goddess of Rebirth, Queen of the Heavens often took refuge during Her sacred holiday. Her beauty was said to be so great that even the primordial gods were unable to deny Her any request._

_Not that it was ever a good idea to deny Her anyway, because the one time the ancient god Anu had forbid Her from tearing down a mountain, She did it anyway and neither Anu nor the other gods said anything against Her for it. The Goddess Inanna had but one true adversary, and even they didn't dare to make a move against Her. For whilst the Goddess was known as one of love and celebratory things... she was also the Goddess of War._

_Something no other deity could lay claim to was governing both love _and_ war simultaneously. It is said that combat upon the fields of battle were the Dance of Inanna and that the same dance was that between passionate lovers._

_Having seem a many warriors practising in Uruk since his childhood, Dumuzi the Shephard had never really understood how that could be so. Perhaps he would be lucky this year and the Goddess would be present when he arrived with his family's yearly offerings to Her and he could ask. If She found favour with his offerings, there was a chance She would even answer his query._

_The temple was thrumming with the sound of music when he entered, the beating of the drums were almost hypnotic as was the incense in the air. Usually when he came to the temple for the offering it was quieter because he opted to come whilst the Goddess slept. But his sister had insisted he come while She was awake this time, since their father's demise had made him the new head of the family—not to mention, she had teased, perhaps he could find himself a wife at the temple... it was almost blasphemy for a man his age to be unwed._

_When he entered the altar the Goddess was seated upon the steps near her throne, surrounded by Her maidens and warriors that had come to pay homage to Her. Her laughter was like a beautiful melody as she gyrated to the drums beat, dancing whilst still seated. She was clad in a tiered dress of red, gold, and yellow. Gold adorned her ears and a delicate chain draped between her lobe and nose. Tiny blue gems framed her elegant brows._

_He stopped. Mesmerized by Her beauty. Yes, he knew very well of the rumours but it was nothing compared to the reality._

_Her dark eyes lit up as she saw him. She clapped Her hands gleefully and spoke words he could not understand. “She says She has been waiting for you!” one of the maidens translated. “You usually arrive after She has gone to rest.” The Goddess entwined Her fingers and rested Her cheek on the back of Her hands as She spoke, delight shining in Her eyes. “She says she will have you because She likes your pretty blue eyes. We must dance to celebrate!”_

_Before he could object, his offerings were taken away. He felt like running away. No one had ever said anything about a celebratory dance being part of the customary offerings during the daylight hours. But then the surprisingly tiny Goddess was taking his hand and dragging him into the throng of people that were now very happily dancing, singing, and drinking. He had always thought the divine beings would be taller, but the petite Goddess did not even reach his shoulders in height._

_It felt like mere minutes had passed before the celebrations tempered themselves, yet the sky was dark and Dumuzi knew he had arrived sometime near high sun. He looked around, confused, while the lovely Goddess led him down a dimly illuminated corridor by his hand._

_“I must return home,” he said quietly, lamely because he didn't want to leave the presence of his Goddess. He let Her lead him into a room adorned in Her favoured colours. Next to a mound of crimson and gold cushions was the basket he had brought, filled with his offerings. Her melodic laughter filled the air and She bounded happily to the cushions and threw Herself upon them, Her gown falling dangerously close to revealing Her womanly delights when She rolled onto Her back and parted Her thighs in invitation._

_Then again, he supposed that was the point when She motioned for him to come closer, Her voice low and seductive as—he could only guess—She asked him to do so._ She will have you _. It finally occurred to him what the temple maiden had meant._

_The Goddess had chosen _him_ as Her consort for this year. And who was he, a mere mortal, to deny a Goddess?_

_Her lips were warm and wet beneath his. Her body soft and inviting. She smelled like honey and something he didn't quite know the name of. It was flowery and over whelming to his senses. Her tongue flicked his ear and She whispered softly to him._

__Ichabod wake up, baby... __

_He shook away the strange voice that wished to invade his thoughts. It wasn't the voice of his Goddess, so it wasn't important. No... wait. It was Her voice but the dialect was strange..._

__**Don't be dead. Don't be dead... Ichabod, wake up! Please!**

Ichabod awoke with a gasp, his lungs burned as they filled with breath. It was entirely different from when he awoke from his shallow grave in Sleepy Hollow. When he had woke up in the grave he had only felt like he had fallen asleep. _This_ had felt like he had died and been brought back to life.

The Siren's tear stained and dirt smudged face was overcome with relief as she stroked his face. She placed kisses on his forehead and rocked back and forth with him cradled in her arms. “I thought you were dead,” she whispered over and over.

He wanted to tell her that he had a reasonable suspicion that he had been. When she knocked him against the head, he wondered if maybe telling her he had been dead would have spared him the abuse. “Why did you follow me, you moron?” she scolded, hugging his face to her chest, still rocking him and sobbing.

Ichabod swallows hard, trying to rid himself of the dryness in his mouth and throat so he can speak. “Your fate is my fate,” he managed to choke out, earning him another knock to the head. He softly panted for breath and took her hand in his. “Whatever your fate may be, shall also be mine.”

“You can shut your whore mouth with those fucking... wedding vows,” the Siren sobbed. “I don't want to hear it.”

He felt a shuffling inside of his coat and Boo popped out, landing on his chest hard, making him groan painfully. He felt like he was getting it from every angle at the moment. Between the Siren's weak pummels to his head and the bouncing dragon on his chest and stomach... he thought perhaps he would be better off dead after all.

_A-row row roooo_ , Boo chirped then flopped down on his chest to nuzzle him.

“Where are we?” Ichabod asked.

The Siren shook her head. “I have no idea... I was a bit too concerned about the idiot that wasn't breathing to take a look around,” she replied, she was no longer sobbing but her voice was still soft and vulnerable. Her fingers combed through his hair and she gently stroked his cheek. 

A few seconds later, Boo was nudging her hand out of the way to cover his face with saliva. He carefully sat up, moving the tiny dragon into his lap. He swallowed down the urge to vomit when his head started spinning.

Boo sprang out of his lap and hobbled around the room they had found themselves in, sniffling at the ground. The Siren soon climbed to her feet to explore for herself. She bent down to retrieve something then held up the Eye of Providence against the light pouring in through one of the archways. The gem was devoid of colour.

“That's weird,” she commented to herself. She turned to him, walked over and knelt down in front of him. “Do you remember anything before we woke up here?”

Ichabod pinched the bridge of his nose. “I remember... a flash of red.” That would certainly explain the prominence of red in the odd dream he'd been having before awakening. He blinked away the invasion of the dream that wanted to return. “Did you have any odd visions prior to waking?”

The Siren stared at him for a long moment, seemed to debate whether to disclose information, then shook her head. “Nothing important. You?”

Ichabod looked around the room, the dark walls adorned with ancient script resembled the temple he had visited in his dream. Except the one in his dream, the walls had been lighter, the script on those walls had been gold and vibrant. It had a newness to it. This place looked old and worn in comparison. “I was... in a temple of sorts... except I was not myself... but I felt as though I were me.” His eyes met hers. “You were a Goddess.”

The Siren smirked lightly. “Goddess... Faery Queen... Siren... I'm starting to think you see me as something that is completely out of your league or deadly.”

He arched a brow. “I've never called you a Faery Queen.”

“Yes you have,” she retorted. “When we were... Oh. Never mind.”

Ichabod carefully climbed to his feet. It felt like his lower extremities had been denied proper blood flow forever and wanted to object to his standing. After a moment, everything felt more willing to cooperate. “No, no... When we were, what?”

“It's not important,” the Siren sighed. She moved toward the archway, shielding her eyes from the sunlight. “We're not in Kansas any more, Toto.”

He moved to standing behind the Siren. They were in the entryway of a massive structure that overlooked an almost barren wasteland. Normally he would have objected to being compared to the little dog from the Wizard of Oz. But considering he doubted they were anywhere in the known world, Ichabod could only respond with a small “woof.”

  
#  


_Abbie grinned across at Ishmael as he sipped his drink. “So why do you call yourself the Siren?” he asked curiously, once he lowered his cup. “I mean, I can see the logic, you're very beautiful... I'm sure many men would throw themselves into the sea to try to reach you.”_

_Her face warmed and she shook her head. “That is something you would have to ask your grand dad,” Abbie replied. “He's the one that started it.”_

_Ishmael chuckled. “I'll have to work up to that. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the idea that I literally have one of my ancestors from the American Revolution alive and breathing.” He set down his coffee and Abbie felt her heart leap into her throat when he gave her a grin that reminded her way too much of the Captain—Disney princess eyes and all. “Think of all the history he saw happening...”_

_Abbie shook her head and looked down at her own drink. “Oh trust me, he's more than happy to share it, whether you want to hear it or not.”_

_He sighed lightly and nodded. “I wish you and me had met before the two of you did.”_

_“Why do you say that?” Abbie asked._

_“Maybe I would have had a chance,” Ishmael said with a regretful sigh._

_“You never know, I could guess you most likely still have a good chance,” Abbie replied, giving him her flirtiest look. Ishmael shook his head._

_“As a general rule I don't date women who are in love with other men,” he commented. “I've found it saves me a lot of heart ache.”_

_Abbie shook her head. “You have it mixed up. He's in love with me, I'm not in love with him.” Ishmael arched a brow and gave her a speculative glance. “If anything kills your chances it's that you two have a lot of the same annoying mannerism.” She knew she sounded defensive but she didn't care. Abbie folded her arms over her chest._

_And just like the Captain, Ishmael smirked and got that cocky little twinkle in his eyes._

_“I'm not in love with him,” Abbie stated sternly. “I hate the guy, okay, we're just getting along while fighting the same bad guy. I'm pretty sure we'll go right back to hating each other as soon as Pandora has been dealt with.”_

_“You do know that denial is not a river in Egypt, right?”_

_Abbie pursed her lips. “You know, I came here to relax and I am just feeling so attacked right now.” She stood, taking her drink in hand. “You have a good day, Mister Jackson. See you around.”_

That's what had been running through Abbie's head as she had held the Captain's lifeless body in her arms after she woke up. She had tried chest compressions, mouth to mouth, she had even tried smacking him a few times before resorting to just pleading with whatever deity could hear her to just let him be alive.

It defied her normal logical means of thinking. She knew the signs to look for to see if a person was dead. He'd had them. For just a moment she had felt regret and resorted to just begging him to not be dead. She couldn't explain what had happened next.

She had reached behind her back and grasped the hilt of the blade that she kept there. Instead of loosing herself in the anger that normally accompanied taking the blade in hand, she had stared at the inscriptions on the wall and certain symbols illuminated, rearranged themselves to words her current incarnation could understand, and she put her hand over the Captain's heart as she spoke primordial words to ignite the spark of life that still lingered—faint, barely an ember, but still there.

She released the blade the moment he had sucked in breath. But everything she had seen and done remained. Not just reviving the Captain. _Everything_. Everything she had seen or done since the beginning of time, when she had a different name. She had used many names since then, had different roles, but always fought to protect the silly little humans from the monsters the other gods would release on them.

The other gods had special names for her.

_The Destroyer. The God Killer_.

Even when they took away her divine providence—stripping her of her godly powers—she still managed to protect humanity from the gods and their pettiness because the mortals had better things to do than to pay homage and worship them. The humans shouldn't have to fear the vengeance of gods, that's what she had come to believe once she came to understand that the mortals didn't bring gifts because they loved her... they feared her.

_He had loved her. He feared his fellow mortals—the way they stared and whispered about him and this family because they looked different. He had only wanted to make her happy. Every time. Every life. But then the gods had tried to part them with the one enemy of mankind... time. And the clever, clever mortals had figured out how to fix it. Maybe not on purpose or intentionally, but they figured out how to get past that pesky little conflict._

“Siren...?”

Abbie shook her head to clear it and looked around the dusty landscape. She didn't even have to turn around to know he was three feet, 5.235 inches behind her to the right. If she stood still enough she could feel his heartbeat and pulse disrupting the stillness in the air. Abbie looked down when Boo hobbled up to her, tilted his head, then bounced excitedly on his haunches.

She smiled. Boo could tell the difference. Just like her, he went in cycles. For Morrigan he had been his current form. Soon he would change again for her, become something new. She had to play dumb for now. It was easy enough to fool the Captain. It would prove harder to hide her wholeness once they made it home.

Her sister would know. Not Jenny. _Pandora_. That's what she called herself now. 

“Siren.”

Abbie looked back at the Captain. “We can go this way,” she said, pointing. Then she realized he looked exhausted. “There should be somewhere to rest for a minute and then we can cut back around to go back to the temple.”

She had to try to remember, he was just human. Mortals required rest and nourishment. _No, no_ not in this place. He would be fine without food and water. But rest was something he would need. Maybe. It would all depend on if he had absorbed any of the power contained by the Eye of Providence when it released its energy for her.

_Her_ providence.

She almost wanted to laugh at the idea that Pandora's boyfriend could hope to have used even an ounce of _her_ providence for himself. It would eventually turn against him and destroy him from the inside out and take Pandora with him. Unless he knew how to get his hands on his own and hers had just been a stop-gap to get him to it.

“We have to find our way home,” Abbie said more to herself than the Captain.

“Siren. Are you well?” he asked.

Abbie nodded. “I'm fine. Why?”

“You seem... different,” he commented. “You act as though you have been here before.”

_He's remembering_ , she told herself. She had been here before, when she had used the name Inanna. The realm of the dead. She had been headstrong and determined to rule over the Heavens and the Underworld. For a brief period she had, but she had used another name at that time too. _He's not ready. Be his Siren. Deflect._

“I just really want to get home,” Abbie said. 

Besides, once home she could sort her head out a little better and maybe stop confusing feelings from past lives with feelings from her current one.


	5. Chapter 5

He needed sleep. She didn't. After hours of exploring she felt no different. He needed to rest. He would sleep, she'd explore more. She'd be back before he awoke and then pretend to sleep while he kept watch. Luckily Abbie was able to convince him that what had only seemed like a brief period of time had been plenty of time to sleep.

“Time obviously runs differently here,” she had pointed out. “I'm good. I promise. Let's go.”

The Captain lightly grasped her wrist when she made for the exit. Abbie looked down at his hand and fought the urge to snatch away from him and ask him how he _dared_ to touch her without express permission. _After everything he has done_... Abbie had to remind Morrigan that Ichabod was not Arthur, regardless of how similar they looked and behaved. “If we focus solely upon the task of escaping, we are bound to over look something.”

Damn. He had a point. Abbie nodded. “You're right. We need some kind of activities to do to clear our heads.” She moistened her lips as her head got filled with images of the Captain having her up against the temple wall. She quickly shook it out. “Chess. We can play chess. That's been around since god knows when. You know how to play that don't you?”

“Of course.”

“We can get things to use as a board and pieces while we're out exploring.” She pointed her finger in his face. “Don't give me that look. I know what that look is. That's a god damn 'stares into camera like he's on the office' look.”

“I was doing no such thing,” the Captain huffed. “What does that even mean?”

“Shut up. Let's go get what we need,” Abbie said and delicately pulled her wrist from his grip. She bound down the steps of the temple, Boo bouncing along a few steps ahead of her. As long as she kept moving, kept herself busy, she could stave off the compulsions she was having to ravish the Captain. At least, until she could separate what was herself and what was mandated by lives from her past.

  
#  


There was something different about her. Ichabod couldn't put his finger on it, but something was vastly different about the Siren. It was not necessarily good nor bad. Just different. She held herself differently. She had been confident before but now she held herself as a force of nature to be reckoned with.

Determination knitted her brow when she tried to concentrate on something in the distance and she murmured under her breath. She would pick up handfuls of sand to test the direction of the wind. Sometimes she would stop and make a full turn around, as though trying to remember where something had been—this is despite nothing having changed since the day before.

He had seen a fiery spark in her eyes when he had finally garnered the courage to tell her they needed to find something to take their minds off of their search. She had been ready to fight, but restrained herself.

She never restrained herself so something was most assuredly abnormal about the Siren.

She was fidgeting uncomfortably as she studied their makeshift chessboard. After a moment she picked up one of her knights— each one represented by a fragment of dark blue lapis lazuli they had found near a dreary forest. The Siren was about to place her move but instead she stared at the stone in her fingers as though transfixed, her lips moved as if whispering to herself. Her head tilted as she turned the stone over in her fingers.

“How dare she,” the Siren whispered. “This was my favourite one.”

“Favourite what?” Ichabod asked.

The Siren blinked, placed the piece, and captured one of his pawns. “What do you mean 'favourite what'?”

Ichabod shook his head. He looked down when Boo nudged his leg. He reached down and rubbed the dragon behind his bigger eye. One of Boo's feet tapped against the floor and he murmured with contentment. The Siren laughed softly. “He loves that.” She looked at Ichabod. “He won't even come out of hiding when Jenny or Joe come around. They think I'm crazy when I say I have a pet dragon.”

“I would have gladly vouched that you were perfectly sane,” Ichabod replied, capturing her knight.

“I don't know if that would have helped my case or not,” the Siren said with a little smile. Her eyes flashed with victory as she moved her next piece. “Check.”

Ichabod felt his heart leap into his throat as he studied the board. He had thought for certain he had kept his king well guarded. Yet, no matter where he moved, another one of the Siren's players would be prepared to move in for a checkmate. How... how had she done that with such ease? And without his noticing.

His eyes fell to her legs, where she had cut off the length of her leggings to make a makeshift hour glass and a makeshift pillow for them to alternate resting their heads on whilst they slept. He was fairly certain that was how she had managed to distract him. “I demand a rematch,” he huffed. He stood and removed his coat, handing it to her. “And cover your legs this time.”

The Siren rested her elbow on her knee and propped her chin on her fist. “Mmmhmm. Blame my legs. Like you've never seen them before,” she said wryly. A tiny smile graced her lips and she arched a brow. “Or were you thinking about the several times, between Sydney and Buenos Aires, that my legs were wrapped around your head?”

A warmth spread from his face and went straight to his groin because that was in fact what he had been thinking about. “It...” he cleared his throat. “I was unaware that there were any non-platonic activities whilst on our world wide adventure, Siren. Or, rather, I was of the understanding they were not to be mentioned. Ever. Or I would meet my demise by your hand.”

“There's no one here but us. But, if that's how you want to play then so be it,” the Siren purred and held his coat back out toward him. She batted her lashes demurely. “There's absolutely no reason for my legs to be a distraction to such a steadfast soldier such as you.” Her voice dropped to a tone that was low and sultry. “It's not like I've _ever_ had my ankles on Captain Ichabod Crane's shoulders... or moaned your name...”

His jaw went slack and he tried very hard to keep his mouth from just hanging open as he looked at her. Her pupils were dilated and she delicately licked her lips as though he was a treat she really wanted to devour. He swallowed hard and stood. “On second thought, perhaps it would prove best to go out and explore some more.”

Something was vastly amiss with the Siren. Oh, he would not deny that she was alluring and seductive in her own unique way, but _this_ was something different. It was as though she had been possessed by some other worldly being. One who, for some reason, wanted to seduce him. Had some spirit from this realm taken over her?

She grasped the waistline of his breeches and pulled him back down to sitting on the rock he had just vacated. Before he could be properly admonished, the petite woman was straddling his lap, her fingers in his hair, her lips ghosting over his. “We don't have to leave the temple to explore familiar terrain, my love. We can rule over the Underworld, just like we did when I stole the throne from my sister and gave it to you.” She pulled back enough to roll her eyes and laugh softly. “Or rather, I left it in your care while I tried to find where my sister stashed the rest of my providence.”

Suddenly the Siren squeezed her eyes shut and hopped off of his lap to start pacing restlessly. “Stop it, stop it,” she softly begged. She paused and rolled her eyes, throwing her hands into the air. “You can control this, girl. That's the past. This is now. You don't have want him just because they did.”

Ichabod blinked at the Siren. Had this place driven her mad? He stood again and cautiously approached her. When he stood before her, he delicately stroked her cheek. Her hands covers his and she nuzzled her cheek against his palm. “Ichabod,” she said softly. “...Arthur. Hades. Dumuzi... my Captain.”

“Siren,” Ichabod said carefully. “I am afraid I do not understand what is happening to you. Is some malicious entity attempting to take over your mind?”

“They're so loud, in my head,” the Siren whispered, her eyes closed. “To a mortal forever means that one lifetime. You get reborn and try again, promise someone else forever. Rinse repeat until your soul reaches peace.” She opened her eyes. “But if you promise a goddess forever... you are hers for eternity. She shares a tiny bit of her soul with you so that you can find each other again and again. He promised her forever, but you keep letting everyone else guide you instead of following your heart.”

Ichabod pulled her into an embrace. For once, instead of shoving him away, she relaxed against him. Her arms slipped around his waist as he held her, stroked her hair, his cheek resting atop her head. One of her hands settled itself over his heart, her fingers softly drummed out the rhythm of its beat.

“I'm not being possessed,” the Siren said. “I'm just... The Eye of Providence... it did something... I'm _remembering_ things. When I touched that wall in London... I could remember being... The Morrigan.” She pulled back and looked up at him. She pulled the vacant Eye from one of the cups of her corset. “We had already banished The Hidden One.” She held up the gem. “Pandora. She thought she could drain my Goddess powers from me and put a stop to the rebellion of the mortals against the gods. _But_ she didn't count on the idea that taking my powers away would only make the mortals rally behind me even harder. They may have made me mortal... but... I was still very much a warrior and a leader that was loved by her people.”

The Siren seated herself on one of the rocks and hung her head. “It's hard... you know... dealing with all of this on my own. I try to talk to Jenny but... she just doesn't _get it_ , you know...”

Why would she talk to—and it suddenly dawned on Ichabod _why_ the Siren would be so willing to sacrifice herself for Miss Jenny. He sat down on the ground before her, taking her tiny hands in both of his. “Miss Jenny is your sister. Not in the communal sense of sisterhood, but in the sense that she is your flesh and blood sister.”

A small smirk appeared on her lips and she pulled one hand free of his grasp. “You have spent way too much time in the company of lesbian feminists,” she teased, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand. Her momentary smile faded. “Don't hurt her... please. Whatever conflicts we have are between you and me. Don't do anything to Jenny.”

“Even if we were not sworn enemies in normal circumstances, I would never bring harm upon your sister. Although, this does explain her immense dislike of me.” He stroked his thumb over her knuckles. “Have you ever considered the prospect that, in this war between good and evil, that all you and I shall ever truly have is each other? That fate saw it fit to give us someone in which to confide those things which everyone else would not be able to understand.”

The Siren closed her eyes and shook her head gently. “What did I say about those damn wedding vows, Captain? Look. You're even holding my damn hand this time...” she pulled her other hand free. “Stop that.”

He brought his hand up to wipe a stray tear from the apple of her cheek. “No. I will not cease. Not so long as what I say is what I feel.”

“ _God_ ,” the Siren scoffed. “I hate you sometimes. You're such a stubborn ass.”

“I dislike the manner in which you change the subject,” Ichabod commented. “But I accept we both have so-called _issues_ to work through.” He recaptured her hands. “Perhaps we could begin with your telling me about what is happening to you.”

  
#  


_Mortals were funny little things, She mused. Just when She thought She had figured all of them out, one would stumble into Her existence and make Her realize just how complex they were. For example, Inanna had been observing the mortal called Dumuzi for years. She knew the others in the city did not treat him and his family the same as everyone else, despite their being one of the larger farms on the outer regions. It was also despite the fact his family had always tried to treat everyone at the market fairly, offering lower cost for a superior crop._

_Ever since he had been a child, he had come to Her temple to give offerings while the rest of the city rested. Unlike the other farmers, his family provided the finest of their crops. She also knew even the worst of their crop was still superior to what was average for Uruk._

_She knew of only one such bloodline that had such fair practices _and_ were known to have uncharacteristically pale skin and eyes..._

_When his eyes fluttered open, she couldn't help but smile at the surreal shade they bore. The same shade as the daytime sky. Perhaps she was just a little biased as the Goddess of the Heavens, but she had a fondness for the colour. To see it as part of a mortal was intriguing._

_“You are a descendant of Cain, yes?” she asked, unsure if the mortal would be able to understand her or not. She tried to stay knowledgeable of the local dialects, but sometimes she would speak a dialect that was aeons older than the current. Usually the only people who could understand her would be the priestesses of her temples, they mistook it for the language of the gods but in reality it was an older version of their own._

_A strange expression crossed his features. “You... you speak... our language?”_

_Inanna nodded and smiled, wrapping her arms around her knees and tilting her head as he sat up. “Answer me, Dumuzi... are you a descendant of Cain?”_

_He lowered his gaze to his hands, which fidgeted with shame. “I suppose that much is obvious,” he said quietly, turning his hands over, gazing at them blankly. “My apologies if this defiles you in any way, My Goddess.”_

_Inanna laughed heartily, earning a confused look from the mortal. “As you say, I am a Goddess. No mortal can truly defile me. I would bring down mountains and famine upon the city which harboured he who tried, until they surrendered him to spare them further displays of my wrath.”_

_She said that because She _had_ done such before, when a mortal dared to defile Her whilst She slept. She had refused to slumber in the company of mortals since, unless within Her temple. She reached up and touched his cheek. “I have never seen one of your bloodline so close before.”_

_“You know of my curse yet chose me as your consort anyway?” he asked._

_Inanna nodded. “It was your ancestor and he alone who was cursed... marked for committing a foul act by his god. It only persists as a curse because you allow it to do so.” She put Her hand on his chest, revelling in the steady thrum She found there. “There is a certain power in your bloodline, no doubt, but it is not a curse. I warrant you could grow crops in the Underworld if you wished. You and your family have shown nothing but dedication to myself for as long as you have been in Uruk.”_

_He blushed at this. “It is you and you alone which blesses us, My Goddess. Providing us with bountiful crops despite our status. We see nothing remiss about giving proper honour to the Goddess which so kindly does so.”_

_Yes. He was the right one, Inanna thought to herself. He possessed the humility of his bloodline but something along the way had given him a gentleness. Other branches of his bloodline were subject to violent outbursts and had a habit of lacking the kind of faithful fortitude she could sense deep inside of him. Others had caused needlessly bloody wars._

_The man that had disposed of her sister's husband had been of the bloodline, but he had not been a direct descendant as Dumuzi was. Perhaps that is where she had been going wrong._

_Despite being the Goddess of War, Inanna had a certain distaste for it. She preferred, if they were warranted, they be over and done. With quick and strategic precision. She had a feeling this mortal could do that. But first... she had to find a way to trick her sister into leaving the throne of the Underworld unguarded._

  
#  


“And when I returned to the Earthly realm,” Abbie said, carefully climbing the stony incline. She was trying to reach the top, to see if maybe she could get a good aerial view of things. The Captain was behind her. He was getting better at keeping up with her with each passing _day_ as it were. “The entire city was in mourning... I went person to person, determined that each one was too important for me to be without.”

“Until you reached your consort...” The Captain piped in. “I am familiar with the tale...”

Abbie stopped and looked back. “Well... yeah, but that was all part of Inanna's plan. She knew for a fact Dumuzi—well, _you_ —would not be mourning.” A gentle smile curved one corner of her lips. “Because you had faith I would return. And you were making preparations for it by planning a lavish feast. She put on a big show of taking offense to the feast, said you wasn't mourning Her properly and had the demons take you in Her place.”

Ichabod looked contemplative for a moment. “And because She had sat upon the throne of the Underworld and claimed it... by default, once Dumuzi took Her place...”

“The throne was his,” Abbie finished. “It was a strategic move on Inanna's part. The Heavens and the Underworld were both Hers. Of course, since Pandora took her providence... Inanna was mortal. The myths leave almost everything else out. But she led wars against the gods by appealing to the mortals' fear of them. All the while, she was able to convince you to rise undead armies against the gods. You were the Lord of the underworld so whatever you commanded, the guardians and the judges had to allow. And you did whatever Inanna commanded. Eventually, Inanna passed away from old age... centuries passed.

“Dumuzi sat in wait. New gods eventually rose to power because humans... have this... annoying habit... of...” Abbie pulled herself up onto the top of the bluff then scurried around to give the Captain a helping hand up. They both collapsed against the ground, panting for breath. She, of course, recovered first. “Humans have this annoying habit of giving command of themselves over to various gods without asking where they come from or what their ulterior motives are. The other gods knew Dumuzi—or, as they called him, Hades—was ancient so it became sort of a rule that you didn't bother the man that guards the dead. Inanna was reborn as the daughter of Zeus and Demeter.”

“Persephone,” the Captain intoned. He turned his head to look at her.

Abbie nodded. “But she was very vulnerable. She was a goddess, obviously, because she was born of a god and a goddess. But she wasn't immortal. They didn't know why. Which was part of the reason Demeter tried to keep her in the Garden of the Gods.”

A small smile appeared on the Captain's lips. “The other part being, Persephone was so beautiful many of the gods sought Her hand. But only one of the gods was granted permission to seek her hand.”

“Hades,” they said in unison.

Abbie peered at him, titling her head. “You're not remembering any of this are you? You're not getting back any of the memories.” She blinked slowly when he shook his head. “Must suck not being the only one that can needlessly drone on about adventures from the past.” She grinned when his expression turned offended. 

He looked down shyly. He blushed lightly. “If ever I do drone on, feel free to tell me to shut up. Admittedly I can—”

“Shut up.” Abbie said, holding up a finger. When he looked upset she quietly added, “I thought I heard something...”

She turned to and fro, trying to figure out what the sound was. That's when she spotted it...

Boo. He was still down below, perched on the ledge of what appeared to be a tree stump that had been hollowed out. He let out a loud howl then jumped into the darkness. The howl echoed until it completely faded away. Abbie felt like she was falling into a deep abyss as it occurred to her there might be more to the tree stump than she had initially thought.

They had rounded it many times, even voiced queries over whether it was a pit or if the bottom was just out of sight. Normally they had to fight to keep Boo from leaping into it. And now that he had been left unsupervised, the damn dragon had jumped in.

Abbie turned toward the Captain. “I thought you made sure he was in your pocket when we climbed up!” she shouted, waggling her finger in his face.

“Evidentially he hopped out!” the Captain groused.

It felt like hours had passed by time they managed to get down the bluff and ran to the stump. Abbie shouted for Boo to answer but no response ever came. No soft whimper, no little purring growls, no snorting, no excited howls. Nothing.

Tears welled in Abbie's eyes and she quickly wiped them away. After a moment, the Captain's hand rested on her shoulder. “I am truly sorry...” 

She shrugged his hand away and stomped off toward the temple. She kept herself tucked away in a simmering anger after he walked into the temple some time after her. When the Captain tried to speak to her, she just huffed and turned away from him. After a while he seemed to understand there was nothing he could do or say to get her to listen to him for the moment.

It wasn't until hours, maybe even days later, that Abbie found herself not angry at him any more. All because he had started softly humming a tune while putting together their makeshift chessboard. After a moment he started quietly singing an old sea shanty about mermaids. A chill coursed up her spine and Abbie closed her eyes.

_She laughed as She rested Her head on Dumuzi's chest, stroking Her hand down his stomach. Lifting Her head, She couldn't help but grin. “I love the songs you mortals come up with about me. They are so beautiful.” She had just spent the last hour listening to him sing the various songs the mortals used to praise Her. “But none have ever sang them_ to _me before.”_

_He tucked Her hair behind Her ear. “I would sing your praises for eternity if I could.”_

_A heaviness weighed upon Her heart. The harvests had long passed and She often found Herself at his family's estate. It reminded her that he was mortal and that he would be susceptible to growing old and wasting away. Or worse, he could be struck down by human hands. “An eternity for a mortal and an eternity for a god are very different, my Dumuzi. But you could. There is a way. But I cannot tell you of it. I would have to visit my sister in the Underworld.”_

_“Isn't that dangerous, even for a Goddess?”_

_She fluttered her lashes. “All I ask is that you have faith that I will return and that when I do... you will be able to be sing my praises for eternity as you desire.”_

_Dumuzi gathered her hands in his and kissed her fingertips. “Always.”_

Abbie opened her eyes to see him studying their makeshift board. “Ichabod...” she said quietly. His head raised and he looked at her as though he were truly seeing her for the very first time. “It wasn't your fault we lost Boo. We both should have been watching him. We know he's obsessed with that damn tree stump...”

The Captain smiled lightly and bowed his head in acknowledgement of her apology. “Perhaps all is not lost. We must have faith that Boo shall return in due time.”

  
#  


She didn't like to admit when he was right. But three days later, she woke up in a tangle of naked limbs with the Captain, atop his coat, with his arm as a pillow—because apparently chess could lead to sex and once that was on the list of acceptable pastimes, nothing could stop them. The still silence of the temple was punctuated by the sound of wheezing and snorting. She had barely gathered her senses before Boo was leaping through the air and dive bombed both her and Captain.

“Sweet Jesus,” the Captain groaned painfully as Boo bounced on them eagerly. Abbie laughed as she tried to wrangle the tiny dragon into her lap. 

“You came back,” she said sweetly, giving him a kiss on his snout. “You're soaking wet, Boo... what the hell?”

Boo leapt off of them and stamped his hind feet, wriggling his tail happily. He tilted his head and purred softly before scampering to the entry of the temple. When they didn't move to folow, he scampered back ad grabbed the edge of the Captain's coat and tugged the fabric made a soft ripping sound. Abbie waved her hand at Boo.

“No, Boo. Don't rip the coat,” Abbie scolded. “We're getting up... just give us a minute.”

As soon as they were dressed—and the Captain stopped lamenting the fact Boo had torn his favourite coat—they followed the dragon to the stump. Boo retrieved some twisted vines and dropped them next to a sword that was lodged in the wood. He chirped happily and whirled around their feet, then jumped into the stump howling gleefully.

Abbie peered down into the darkness. “Our way home...” she said quietly.

The Captain pointed at the sword while staring at it curiously. “I recognize that sword...”

“I swear to _God_ if you say anything about Thomas Jefferson, Betsy Ross, George Washington, or any of your old buddies I will strangle you,” Abbie groused, tying the vines to the hilt of the sword.

The Captain was silent for a moment then shook his head. “Come to think of it, the sword looks rather nondescript. It could be anyone's. Besides, the owner hardly matters so long as it is assisting our escape, yes?”

“That's what I thought.”

  
#  


“I believe I may have found an explanation for Boo.”

Abbie looked up from the old worn journal of her ancestor and across the table at the Captain. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“He is your familiar,” the Captain replied. Abbie arched a quizzical brow. “A familiar is a creature or animal which a witch has as a companion. In many cases familiars can assist their master with magic and are often believed to be an extension of said witch's soul.”

She watched Boo as he found a pile of discarded sheets which had once covered various items in 'the Archives.' He burrowed into the sheets, rolled around in them until he was like a burrito, then went into a sneezing fit from the dust. So her silly little dragon was an extension of her soul. 

She could see it. She too had moments where she wanted to roll around in sheets and turn herself into a burrito. She also had moments where she was a little silly, not that she ever let anyone see that side of her. “Wait... maybe that explains why, when in London, I was able to go into the hidden compartment at Oxford. And the other places where I fell through walls... into separate rooms... Boo was with me at those times.”

Boo snorted loudly and shuffled out of his little cocoon. He sniffed at the air then scampered toward her. Abbie patted her hip and next she knew it looked like she had a patch on her jeans that looked like Boo. A few seconds later Jenny and Joe strode in looking pleased with themselves. Joe cast a speculative glance between the two of them despite the fact they had a table between them.

“We got it,” Jenny boasted, placing a fragment of Pandora's box on the table. “Let's get this thing put back together and trap that bitch and her boyfriend in it.”

  
#  


“It requires your soul,” Pandora said softly.

And it wanted hers. Abbie knew what she had to do. It was what she was born for, wasn't it? To lay her life down so mankind could continue to flourish. She just never realized it would happen so soon in the game. Would there be anyone to take her place? Who fight against what was yet to come? 

She turned enough to see the Captain laying on the ground trying to get back to his feet. She smiled weakly. “Maybe next time, huh?” she asked. If there was a next time.

The Captain's eyes widened and he scrambled toward her on hands and knees. But he wasn't going to be quick enough, she knew. She connected eyes with Pandora and grin manically. “Checkmate, bitch.”

“I won the game long ago, Inanna,” Pandora said with a smile.

“That's what you think.” Abbie reached for the box.

“ _No, don't_!”

Just before her fingers could touch, Abbie's heard a loud snort and a thick mucus type substance hit her hand, burning it. She yelped and pulled her hand close to herself. Next she knew Boo leapt onto the box and let out a proud little howl as it sucked him in. Abbie felt her heart break as Boo's dopey little face disappeared.

Pandora's smile faded as the box regained its power.

Tears sprang to Abbie's eyes. That hadn't been what she was expecting... Finally the words, “Boo, no,” managed to escape her lips. It should have been her... 

A few moments later, the Captain was pulling her into his arms and hugging her tightly. After a second he held her at arms length and brushed her hair away from her face. “We must end this.”

_We_.

How was it so easy for him to accept what fate told him to do? Then again, he never seemed to have any issues with doing as he was told. A bitter laugh escaped her lips and she nodded. “Let's do it.”

  
#  


The aftermath of destroying Pandora had not gone completely unnoticed. Apparently one of the higher ups in the FBI had been keeping tabs on her and keeping up with the Captain as well. Abbie didn't like it. So when they made the offer she politely told them where they could stick a stapler. The Captain however, looked torn.

Of course he would be, Abbie thought bitterly.

Torn between the orders given to him by a general that was long dead and gone and continuing to fight with her. She refused to be anyone's Patsy. Especially to someone who obviously had no issue making the people she was close to “keep an eye” on her and keep it secret. That was the sort of thing that easily rubbed her the wrong way. They'd be lucky if she continued with the FBI.

She changed her appearance good enough when working as the Siren that they didn't connect the dots with Abbie Mills and the Siren. They thought the Siren was just one of Sheriff Corbin's protégés, keeping up the fight. Then again, this guy struck her as the type that thought all people of a race looked alike. Maybe she could play this game out a little further if she wanted.

Thankfully the Captain didn't try to correct them about the protégé deal.

“I'm going to go,” she said bluntly. “Just let me know what you decide, Captain. So I know where we _really_ stand.”

A few days later she was waiting for him at the Archives. She tried to stamp down the feeling of betrayal when he said he was going to be helping her new enemies. Oh he had been apologetic and had even tried to reason _why_. There were things he needed to know and they might have the answers and not realize it... he felt he owed to Washington to follow through...

Abbie shook her head and sighed. “Just following orders right?” she scoffed. “I get it. I really do. Lots of people throughout history cling to the idea that they are 'just following orders' to justify things. Most of the time it's bad things.”

“Siren...”

“No,” she said firmly. “I'm not doing it. Either you're with me or you're against me. And you've made your choice. You're just gonna follow orders and do whatever they say.” She closed her eyes and swallowed down the lump that threatened to make her voice crack. “I just hope you can live with the ramifications of what that may or may not entail.”

Without any further discourse, Abbie showed herself out. She ducked and weaved through alleyways until she reached the park, where she had hidden her SUV. She pulled her hair back and and fixed it into a sloppy bun, removed her mask, took a deep breath, and looked straight ahead.

It then and only then, hidden away where no one could see, she let herself have a much deserved cry.


End file.
